


A Mighty Stranger

by dell_x



Series: haunt me [1]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Multi, Reincarnation, based off a prompt which i wont link till the end cause it'll ruin the whole damn thing, seokmin/soonyoung if you read too far into things, seungcheol/jeonghan mentioned, sexual vibes?? idk not too explicit, some violence?? idk, soulmate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-09-23 16:51:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 53,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9666464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dell_x/pseuds/dell_x
Summary: The universe was kind. When a soul reached the age of eighteen, they would remain so until they were reunited with their soulmate, and had the means of staying together. And so, people were happy, and souls were made more content each time they reincarnated, and all was well.However, some, like a certain Kim Mingyu, took advantage of this kindness, and used the ability of reincarnation to extend their lives at the expense of their soulmate.But Jeon Wonwoo has had enough.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> here's a playlist i listened to while writing this if u wanna copy the vibes http://suan.fm/mix/iAWhsJx

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly a #mess, capitalised due to popular demand. i've not really written anything like this before but we're fuckin going for it, plz b nice

Wonwoo stumbled down the stairs, missing the last few and falling slightly, but catching himself before he made a fool of himself. He didn't slow down, just kept going, jogging until he got far enough across campus that he knew he could relax, sure he’d make it to the station on time. As Wonwoo’s steps slowed, he became more aware of the freezing air, and almost wished he’d kept running as the cold seeped through his clothes and into his skin. The wind was bitter, and his breath was coming out in puffs in front of him. 

He was grateful as he made his way into the station, the warm air flowing over him and immediately lifting his spirits. Wonwoo scanned his train pass at the turnstiles, running down the escalator and making his way to the platform. His apartment was only two stops away, and most days it was quicker to walk home rather than get the subway, but he’d been at a further end of the campus today, and the weather was making him lazy.

Wonwoo bounced on his heels as he waited for the train to pull in. There were a few other people on the platform but not as many as usual, the cold keeping people in their homes. A few high school students, some office workers, and an elderly woman, but as the train came to as stop Wonwoo saw it was crowded, and he’d be lucky to even get a place holding a handrail let alone a seat. The doors opened but few people came out, so Wonwoo wriggled himself into a carriage, fitting between two other passengers and praying he wouldn't fall. 

It was quiet as they waited to pull out again, only a slight shuffling as a boy around Wonwoo’s age gave up his seat for the elderly woman. The train began to move, the carriage silent over the rushing noise that came as they headed off. Etiquette urged passengers to stare at the ground and not make eye contact with anyone, but Wonwoo could feel he was being watched.

As they pulled into the next station, Wonwoo raised his head, casually, as though simply observing the movements of the other passengers as they left the train, but he looked over to where he could feel he was being stared at from.

It was the man who’d given up his seat for the old woman. He was still staring unabashedly at Wonwoo, and didn't seem to even blink as Wonwoo glanced up at him. He was tall, and he stood slightly bent over as he held onto the hand rails that ran along the ceiling. He was good-looking in a way that immediately made Wonwoo feel more aware of himself. In any other situation he would've been anxious that he had food around his mouth, or pen on his cheek, or any other form of embarrassment that would’ve attracted the attention of the stranger. But Wonwoo didn't feel any of that.

He recognised the stranger, that he was sure of. He’d seen him recently, and something told Wonwoo it’d been on campus or around his apartment building, he wasn't sure which. It was likely he simply attended the same university as Wonwoo, given that he looked only slightly older than Wonwoo, but something about the way he held himself told Wonwoo the stranger wasn’t a student.

There was something deeper. He recognised his face sure, and he was certain it was from the last month or so that he’d seen him, but there was a thick pressure on the inside of his lungs that told him there was more. His throat was closing up, and Wonwoo forced his eyes to fix themselves to the floor of the subway carriage. He could feel his heart thudding against his ribs, and his pulse pressing in his neck, behind his eyes, in the tips of each of his fingertips that were buried deep inside of his pockets. His heart hadn't beat this fast unaided for a good few years now. 

Wonwoo had only seen the stranger’s face for less than ten seconds, but immediately his image was seared in Wonwoo’s mind. The slant of his eyes, the curving of the corner of his lips, the broadness of his shoulders. Christ, Wonwoo couldn't even make out the man’s shoulders from the crowd of people and the thick jacket he was wearing, and yet he could picture them so clearly in his mind.

His imagination must’ve been running wild, as expressions on the man’s face were running through Wonwoo’s mind, expressions Wonwoo couldn't possibly know, seeing as the stranger’s face was completely blank. Images of the man laughing, head thrown back, teeth white and canines pointed, a deep sound that had the hairs on the back of Wonwoo’s neck standing up. The man’s profile as he focused on something, tongue poking between his teeth, the stranger with his eyes narrowed, mouth quick and words sharp. Eyes blank and mouth downturned, turning his head to face away from Wonwoo, seeming completely indifferent, and then his expression soft and a small smile on his lips, eyes big and bright as he whispered quiet words.

And prominent, so prominent in Wonwoo’s mind, a feeling of anger. Of eyes blazing, mouth spitting venom, looming over Wonwoo, his size presiding over Wonwoo until it had him feeling small and terrified. Hair pushed back, sweat covering his brow, smiling but not in the least part kind, moving closer and closer until Wonwoo’s heart was in his mouth and all he could do was open his mouth and scream.

The train jolted to a stop and Wonwoo jumped. He didn't look up, just pushed through the crowded carriage and out of the door, down onto the platform and stumbling, doubling over, breathing heavily as he tried to gather his thoughts. He straightened up just as the train pulled out of the station, and Wonwoo saw faces flicker past him as the windows passed by. But as Wonwoo watched, as he bore holes into the carriage and examined each and every passenger, he did not see the stranger on the train as it left. 

 

Wonwoo did his best to forget the incident over the next few days. He’d been a little shaken, and his flatmates had noticed, but Wonwoo gave them a vague story about seeing a weird guy on the train. They hadn't bought it, but none of them pressed him any further.

His heartbeat slowed again a few hours after he got home, and his body settled back into it’s usual state. Wonwoo tried not to think about what it had been like to feel so alive again.

Wonwoo stopped ageing almost fourteen years ago. Technically it’d been on his eighteenth birthday, as it was with the rest of the world, but he’d had to wait a while to be completely sure. Truthfully, he’d known as soon as he’d woken up that morning. He felt steady, less volatile, his pulse slower and breathing steady, however it was custom to wait a few months until there was evidence. Difficulty gaining or losing weight, slower hair and nail growth, decrease in dreams, complete loss of height growth, and lower blood pressure. But again, Wonwoo was sure he’d stopped ageing as soon as he’d woken up that morning. Besides, he was certain he’d have known if he’d met his soulmate by then.

And as everyone he knew passed their birthdays and he continued to remain eighteen, he became even more sure of the fact that he’d not met his soulmate yet. He’d felt a sense of freedom, to know he had such a wide range of potential soulmates ahead of him. He’d gone travelling, around South-East Asia, South America, Europe, and India, starting university when he would've been nearing his mid-twenties, not that anyone could tell. But as time passed, he grew expectant, and then anxious, until finally he began to feel indifferent. 

There was the possibility he’d already met them, and just not noticed that he’d begun to age again. There was supposed to be no immediate indicators, apart from a presumed chemistry between oneself and one’s soulmate. But most people who Wonwoo knew who’d had the fortune of meeting their soulmate had said that was bullshit. Aside from there usually being a physical attraction, they’d all said there was a shift inside. And after going years without an increase in pulse without the aid of exercise, drugs, or scary movies, you’d probably realise something was going on after the first few encounters.

But Wonwoo hadn't felt anything yet. He’d grown tired of it, of a seemingly constant stream of childhood friends finding their soulmates and beginning to grow old together, and for a while he would do anything to feel more. He’d go clubbing every night, took questionably sourced pills, drank his brains out, danced all night and half into the day, sleeping until the sun set again and repeating the whole thing. It was only when he had his stomach pumped for the sixth time in a month that he was reminded that there was only so much that the whole ‘not ageing thing’ could repair. If he wanted to live long enough to meet his soulmate in this life he ought to tone things down a bit, unless he wanted to get himself killed and cause his unsuspecting soulmate to wait another god knows how many years for him to be reincarnated as someone completely different. 

And even then, another eighteen years would have to pass until that version of himself was able to tell if they’d met their soulmate or not, and if they didn't meetright away then how long would it be now? His soulmate could've died themselves, and it would be a horrible cycle of near misses, for both his soulmate and himself, and the only way to prevent it was for Wonwoo to clean his damn act up.

Of course, the nurse who’d lectured him on this had received stares as she spoke, and then a stern talking to from her supervisor once Wonwoo had left. The concept of soulmate reincarnation was a topic that could get someone into a lot of trouble, despite the truth behind it. Not only was it generally a social taboo, and seen more as a theory than anything else, most countries had legal retribution of the discussion as an added threat. It was something that could very easily be abused, and had been known to be so.

In any case, Wonwoo calmed down, still drinking and clubbing but focusing on other things to keep him busy. He’d graduated from three different universities, and was currently on his fourth, and hopefully his last. He’d studied abroad for the first three, but had come back to Korea this time. His parents were getting old, and now so was his little brother.

Wonwoo found plenty of different ways to spend his time in the past, but the thing that had stuck with him had been unexpected. He’d wandered into a gym on his last college campus and found himself hooked, working out most days, jogging in the evenings, training in various martial arts until he grew tired of them, and lately he’d been finding himself liking boxing. He was good too, competing in some competitions for the university he attended now, and it made his heart race in a way that had been unfamiliar for such a long time, until last week at least.

 

It was late, and Wonwoo was making his way back to his apartment after being at the gym for five solid hours. He was worn out, and the wind tore through his wet hair, raising goosebumps on the back of his neck.

His footsteps echoed as he cut through a tunnel under a busy road, the lamps in the roof mostly all out, the dark stretching out in front of him towards the next patch of light. The smell of cigarette smoke and damp all but encased Wonwoo in the dark, and as he walked further into the darkness he felt the hairs on his arms stand up.

The muffled sound of cars passing overhead covered the solitary echo of Wonwoo’s footsteps, but he found his ears growing alert, muscles tightening and the beginnings of adrenaline pumping through his veins. Something was folding over and over itself in Wonwoo’s stomach, and a crushing sense of déjà vu piled on top of him. He could feel someone behind him, getting closer as he moved further into the stretch of dark.

He turned suddenly to face whoever it was that was behind him. They were closer than Wonwoo expected, barely a metre between them, and Wonwoo’s breath hitched involuntarily. The man, as it was a man, froze, obviously not expecting Wonwoo to have noticed him.

He was tall, taller than Wonwoo, but about the same build as him. He was dressed all in black, hood over his head and pulled low towards his eyes. Wonwoo took advantage of his surprise to observe him, to try and identify his face. Wonwoo had seen his eyes before, and something inside him began to tangle itself into painful knots, Wonwoo suddenly more afraid than he had been before he’d faced the stranger. 

“I don’t have any money.” Wonwoo found the courage to say, voice stronger than he’d expected it to be, and the stranger inhaled sharply at the sound of Wonwoo’s voice.

The stranger paused for a moment, before lunging forward, arms outstretched to grab Wonwoo’s neck but Wonwoo grabbed onto his arms, wrenching them downwards and away from himself. The man was obviously surprised, but lifted his knee and hit Wonwoo in the stomach. 

Wonwoo gasped, air leaving his body, but he swung a punch in the man’s direction, connecting with his face and hearing as it made contact. The man made some kind of growling noise, hitting Wonwoo back, Wonwoo barely dodging and feeling the man’s fist hit the side of his face. 

He reeled for a moment but registered a movement in the man’s hand, and a glint of metal hit off what little light there was. Something cold ran down Wonwoo’s spine, and he could feel his heartbeat thudding in the hollows of his neck. The man started forward again, raising his left arm as though to swing at Wonwoo, but he knew better, grabbing the man’s right hand and twisting it back till the stranger’s grip loosened. Wonwoo swung, knocking the knife out of the man’s hand and letting it clatter to the floor, the sound bouncing off the enclosed walls. 

The stranger staggered back, Wonwoo moving forward and swung at him again, over and over, leaning forward and kicking his legs out from under him so the stranger fell to the ground on his knees. Wonwoo looked down at the stranger and saw he was bleeding heavily, lip split open and cuts on his face from where Wonwoo’s rings had hit him. His eyes were beginning to droop, and Wonwoo kicked him in the chest once more for good measure. Then he turned, and he ran.

Once he reached the patch of light he couldn't fight the urge to look back, and slowed, turning but still jogging backwards. He could see the man with his head drooped forward, still on his knees and even from the distance he was at Wonwoo could see blood dripping from his face. And as Wonwoo turned again and continued out of the tunnel, he tried not to think about how he swore the man had been laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk the chapters r coming quickly w this one, hope that doesn't mean its shite, lemme know if u think this sucks, thanks for reading this far !!


	2. chapter two

_Malacca, Tanah Melayu 1742_

 

The bustle of the port came as a shock to Mingyu’s system just as much now as it had when he’d first arrived here. The shouts of merchants and old local men selling fish, yells in half a dozen different languages, the smell of the harbour and spices and decay, and the ever threatening presence of European soldiers stalking about with large guns and trigger happy fingers.

Mingyu did his best to blend in, having settled on passing as a Chinese trader, knowing he’d never fit in as a local. His Mandarin had improved over the years, still not perfect but good enough to pass himself off to anyone who cared to look.

Every shaman Mingyu had consulted had told him to head South, and West a bit, but none could give him a name of a specific place until he’d travelled to each end of the country, finally finding an old Mudang who said she could locate it if given something had belonged to a past incarnate. Mingyu had immediately felt a huge weight lift off his shoulders, taking the amulet from around his neck and settling it into the old woman’s palm, her eyes immediately dropping closed as she clutched it tightly.

After some time, her eyes opened, murmuring the name of where Mingyu would find what he looked for, and something that Mingyu assumed was the name of the incarnate but was not one that Mingyu had ever heard before. Her face was blank but her eyes were sharp as she looked him over. 

It was not uncommon for people to come and ask for the holy men and women to track those who they were fated to, but they were almost always sent away. The Gods had chosen everything carefully, and one would meet their fated one once the Gods chose to grant it. However, on occasion, something intervened and caused the path the Gods lay to divert, usually an untimely accident or illness. But it was almost always righted, as if someone died before meeting their fated one, they would almost always follow, so as to allow for a meeting in the next incarnate, or at least the deceased would reincarnate wherever their fated one had ended up after the others passing.

But this boy, for he still appeared a boy, was much older than he ought to be, far older. As the boy thanked her, heading over to the shrine to pray for her wellbeing and make an offering for his own good fortune, her blood began to run cold. From this distance she could see a presence looming over him, and she could feel his intentions were not that of finding happiness with his fated one. As he finished his offering and left the temple, she fled inside, to consult with the holy men and women of the temple, and to pray for the Gods’ forgiveness of her, for enabling the act of evil spirits through this boy. She preoccupied herself with the darkness in him, so as to not let herself be swayed by the soul crushing sadness she had also seen. 

 

Mingyu was not aware of the actions of the old Mudang, and even if he was it would not have deterred him. It had only taken him a few weeks to find who he sought once he’d arrived, given that they made themselves so known. 

Attitudes to the missionaries were varied, but even in the short time Mingyu had been in the city he found himself disliking them. Their constant preaching in the streets in languages that most people didn't understand, the way they harassed people going about their business and waved books in their faces, and the crowds they gathered blocking the streets and causing general disruption, not to mention the great big building they insisted on constructing, that was so unlike anything Mingyu had ever seen. He denied that what he felt was awe.

He’d observed the fuss that the group of men made in the town until he was sure he had found him. Mingyu was not unwilling to admit he was a little shaken at seeing him this time. Although this was not the first reincarnate he had seen since he had first met his fated one, this was the first time he had changed so drastically in appearance. Mingyu had learnt his name soon after finding him, but it had taken Mingyu sitting up late at night and mouthing out the syllables to fully wrap his head around the shape of it.

This stranger was tall, as they all had been, skin pale and eyes large, hair almost as dark as Mingyu’s own and long, tied back with a piece of leather. It didn't fall straight, but was thick and waving, and would fall into the strangers eyes as he spoke to the crowds. He looked nothing like Mingyu’s fated one had, from what he could see. He supposed that made it easier.

He’d chosen his timing well, after observing for a while. This particular young man would finish his speaking as the sun began to set, but unlike his counterparts, if he was alone he would not return to his lodgings immediately. He would wander aimlessly around the area where they spoke, near the docks, and Mingyu thought him very foolish to do so. Locals weren't so favourable in their opinion of these men, and despite the large presence of soldiers, there’d been known violence against missionaries even in the few weeks since Mingyu had arrived. Mingyu did not understand his own concern. And, as any young man would, the stranger often ended up in a public drinking house, and Mingyu had seen him stumble back to his residency enough times to formulate a plan.

It only took a few evenings of waiting in the gloomy old drinking house for the stranger to show up. He sat and made conversation with some of his countrymen that were sat by him, continuing to drink until he could barely stand. He managed it somehow, staggering out of the building and Mingyu quickly finished his own drink and followed behind him.

The night was hot, as every night had been. There were few stars poking out from behind thick clouds, and a light breeze shifted over Mingyu as he increased his pace when the stranger turned down a side street. 

He had returned back this way every night in all the time Mingyu had been there, which was another foolish act. Mingyu had placed a glass bottle against the wall of one of the two buildings that formed the alleyway that afternoon, and as the alley was so dark it had gone unnoticed by any passersby.

Mingyu picked it up and walked further down the alleyway, quickening his steps as he gained on the stranger. He still was oblivious to the man following behind him, continuing on his way, far too drunk to care. 

Mingyu got closer and closer till there was barely a foot between them, enough for Mingyu to reach out and touch him. Instead, he raised the bottle high and struck it down against the strangers head. 

The bottle smashed on impact with a sickening crack, shards of glass splitting off and the stranger immediately falling to the ground. Mingyu wasted no time, casting the remains of the neck into the alley and dropping down to his knees next to the collapsed man, ensuring he was unconscious. He pulled the mans head onto his lap, and tried not to look at him. He pulled the handkerchief the stranger kept in his own jacket from his pocket, and pressed it down over his nose and mouth.

Mingyu tried to focus on the distant sounds of water hitting against the harbour, the shouts of drunken men in the streets, the breeze blowing through the alley, and the crying of a baby from somewhere above him. Eventually, Mingyu looked down at the mans head in his lap, if only to see if he had died yet, but the shock of seeing the strangers face up close almost made him cry out.

It’d been long enough, and he was most certainly dead as Mingyu removed the handkerchief. He pocketed it, to remove any evidence that he’d been suffocated. When he was found in the morning, they’d take one look at the broken bottle next to him, the head wound, and the fact that he was one of a very disliked group in a bad area of the town, and immediately draw the facts together. And by that time, Mingyu’d already be on a boat, heading away from anyone who cared to look into things further.

Mingyu knew he ought to go before someone saw him with the body, but he couldn't quite bring himself to move. He found himself fixed on the stranger’s face, his eyes unable to tear away. His lips were still parted as though still trying to draw in breath, and the slant of the man’s cupids bow was so familiar to Mingyu he found his breath hitching. The odd shape of his ears reminded Mingyu of someone who he used to tease mercilessly for theirs, and the thin hands of the man's limp arm had the same bitten down fingernails, broad palms, and long, thin fingers.

His eyes were still open, and as Mingyu reached his hand over to close them, he saw the remains of a familiar gleam in them dying, and he knew he had to leave.

Despite his intentions, Mingyu moved the stranger’s head off his knees without force, turning his head to the side and moving his arms to make it look as though he had landed hard. Mingyu took a last glance at the stranger’s body as he stood, taking in the blood that had matted his dark hair to his forehead, curls stuck to his forehead with blood but expression still so gentle. 

Mingyu turned and continued down the alley, and didn't look back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this was like mingyus pov its kinda weird i hope its okay


	3. chapter three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> never in my entire life have i ever written anything like this

Wonwoo’s friends were drug addicts. He knew it, they knew it, everyone else knew it. Only Soonyoung had never labelled himself as such, opting instead for a ‘recreational partaker in substances’, but everyone else was perfectly open about it. Hansol had become a stoner the minute he realised he’d stopped ageing, because life was short enough even with however many more years he’d get right now. Junhui smoked funny things in pipes that Wonwoo was sure were older than his grandfather, but then, no one knew how old Junhui was anyway. Even Jisoo, in all his self righteousness, wasn't a stranger to anything offered to him in alleys behind nightclubs.

But despite shared evenings with whatever Jisoo had baked half a bag of marijuana into, a greasy takeaway, and Seungcheol getting too deep with his existentialism, the only drug they all actively used was ecstasy. Speed, eccies, MDMA, whatever the hell Jun called them as he chatted up dealers on the phone, if it was going around, they did it.

For a long time Wonwoo never seemed to never come down, a constant buzz that lasted for months, and by the time he seemed to be coming off it he’d have already found himself on something else. His friends were all similar, Wonwoo either having met them when he started uni this time, or any other time before. He’d met Junhui first, when he was studying for the very first time, in Hong Kong. He’d been his dealer first, or rather someone who’d dole out pink packets for a wad of sweat covered bills outside the bathrooms in grimy clubs. The rest of them had fallen into place over time, a few coming and going as soulmates got found, but they’d been pretty constant with this little group for the last couple of years. Chan was the newest addition, already a club kid before he turned eighteen, getting in on his uncle's old ID and the excuse that he was actually forty-five and terribly lonely. 

Things had been particularly bad for a while, up until Wonwoo had reached a point where even Hansol was concerned. Wonwoo'd calmed down after that. He missed it still, but he figured he’d had his fun, and despite his frozen body, he’d matured, and being on it all the time was almost wasting the extra time on earth that he had. He might as well tone it down a bit, study and travel in the bonus years he had until he was found.

But despite Wonwoo’s attempts at sobriety, his friends would never let him get away with totally doing away with it all. He opted more for short term highs, and alcohol. Obviously. His role was now making sure none of his friends passed out from dehydration, which was more throwing bottles of water at Soonyoung and hoping he’d come down enough to get the message. Half the task was finding them in the heaps of people, bodies pressed so tightly together that Wonwoo could feel heartbeats against his skin as he pushed through the crowd. 

 

Tonight was no different. Wonwoo could feel the bass in his feet as they all stumbled down the street, pre-drinks already giving them a buzz. The queue outside barely registered with them, and soon they were staggering in, a glance barely exchanged as they all went their separate ways, Soonyoung and Chan already pushing onto the dance floor, Jisoo going to lurk around the DJ, Hansol and Junhui heading towards the bathrooms and the corridors that separated dark spaces from the rest of the club.  

Seungcheol made his way over to the bar, and Wonwoo followed behind. Seungcheol had been acting odd lately, but Wonwoo wasn't going to question it, just grinned at his suggestion of shots as they seated themselves on vaguely sticky stools. He could feel the lights flashing behind him, and the music made his body pulse in a way that had become comforting over the years. 

After a while at the bar, he clapped Seungcheol on the shoulder, and knowing he’d be in the same place when Wonwoo got back, inched through the club to the exit. He didn't go far, only along the outside wall a bit, a crushed box of cigarettes pulled from his jacket pocket and lit with only slightly shaky hands.

The smoke moved down and filled his lungs, Wonwoo only looking up from his feet as he exhaled. People were still edging their way into the building, and few were coming back out. It was raining a little, and the clouds above were dark orange from the light of the city, not a star in sight. Cars sped past and the lights hurt Wonwoo’s eyes a little. He turned and saw fellow smokers, clusters of girls in high heels that hurt their ankles, a couple making out with filters still held loosely in their hands, ash still flaking off onto the pavement. In between Wonwoo and the couple was another lone smoker, and as Wonwoo’s eyes ran over him he saw he was already looking at Wonwoo. 

Something about the second of eye contact they made had something pushing up from the depths on Wonwoo’s insides, and he found himself dropping his cigarette stub and crushing it under his heel. He turned, flashing the stamp on his wrist to the bouncer as he went back inside. 

Seungcheol had, as predicted, not moved, but had definitely drank more. He clapped Wonwoo on the back, calling for another round of shots before heading to the dance floor. He downed them in seconds, Wonwoo following after, before standing on legs that verged on wobbly, throwing an arm around Wonwoo’s shoulder as they edged towards the fray.

 

Wonwoo was just beginning to feel the bounce increase in his steps when Seungcheol stopped. Wonwoo turned to look, slightly annoyed, and saw Seungcheol had evidently ran into someone he knew. 

“Wonwoo!” Seungcheol said, dragging and pulling Wonwoo towards the group of reunited friends, shouting slightly. “This is Wonwoo. Jean Wonwoo.”

“I figured,” said the guy standing closest to Seungcheol, rolling his eyes but corners of his mouth turning up. He reached out and shook Wonwoo’s hand, a strand of hair falling loose from his ponytail as he did so. “Jeonghan.”

 Wonwoo couldn't be bothered to shout over the music, opting instead to grin as he was introduced.

“You’ve met Seokmin, and you’ll have seen Jihoon about, he’s memorable.” Seungcheol was yelling in Wonwoo’s ear as he waved in the direction of a guy, drunk out of his mind and leaning his elbow on a short guys shoulder, who looked unfazed. “Seungkwan’s a friend of Jisoo’s, but I don’t think you’ll know Mingyu.”

As Wonwoo tried to make out the faces of the newcomers in the darkness and flashing lights, Wonwoo felt his tongue grow thick in his mouth. Wonwoo did know Mingyu.

The face of the stranger on the train hadn't left Wonwoo’s mind in the month or so since he’d seen him. There was something heavily familiar about the stranger, who Wonwoo now knew was Mingyu, and his eyes hadn't left Wonwoo the whole time.

Now he saw him up close, Wonwoo raked over his features with a feeling that he uncomfortably placed as desire. He was easily the best looking person Wonwoo had ever met, tall, even taller than Wonwoo, skin gold, jawline sharp, and nose sloping. The stranger, Mingyu, was ripped as hell, t-shirt stretched taut over his torso and shoulders broad. Wonwoo could make out the shapes of tattoos but it was too dark to define them. His arms were thick with muscle, and while Wonwoo himself was no stranger to a protein shake and his years spent in the gym certainly left him with a body he was confident in, the only word that Wonwoo could find to describe Mingyu was godlike.

When Wonwoo finally looked back to the stranger’s face, he saw he was smirking, flashing pointed canines in plush lips that Wonwoo knew would've caused his heart to race, if it wasn't already beating in time with the music.

“Are we gonna dance or what?” Wonwoo asked, turning away from Mingyu to face Seungcheol, who seemed to have been helping Jeonghan tie his hair back. He looked up at Wonwoo and grinned, and Wonwoo began to split into the crowd with this new group of strangers.

 

By the time Wonwoo’d fit himself into the heaving mass of bodies, he found he’d misplaced Seungcheol. Wonwoo would've been unbothered usually. They were big boys, they could handle themselves. But rather than being completely on his own, Wonwoo found himself pressed next to Mingyu. Their eyes met and Wonwoo held eye contact, and the stranger’s ever present smirk only grew.

“I never caught your name,” Mingyu said, leaning down to speak into Wonwoo’s ear, his voice bursting against the skin of Wonwoo’s neck.

“Wonwoo.” he replied, leaning up slightly to speak into Mingyu’s ear, the smell of his cologne and smoke overwhelming Wonwoo for a moment before he leant back. They were still moving slightly, partly due to the crush of people around them, and partly due to the music that always occupied Wonwoo’s mind.

Mingyu leant down again, and the vibration of his voice had something pushing up inside of Wonwoo once more.

“Jeon Wonwoo? Really?”

“Why?” Wonwoo said, vaguely put out and yelling slightly as the music only seemed to increase in volume. “Something wrong with it?”

“No,” Mingyu replied, laughing again. “I just never thought it was such a common name. You're not the first I've met.”

Wonwoo couldn't think of a reply, just rolled his eyes and tried to ignore the stranger. This proved difficult, as more and more people seemed to fill out the club. Wonwoo didn't mind, managing to enjoy the music, energy coursing through his muscles and heartbeat thudding against his sweat slicked neck. It was only after a while that Wonwoo found he had no room to turn, and he was pressed facing Mingyu.

He raised his eyes to find Mingyu already looking at him, his mouth curled up but eyes unreadable. He seemed to be about to say something when someone slammed into the back of Wonwoo as the crowd shifted again. Wonwoo kept himself steady but Mingyu’s hand had reached out anyway, resting low on Wonwoo’s back as though he was afraid Wonwoo would fall. The crowd began to tighten impossibly further and Mingyu kept his hand where it was, Wonwoo managing to raise his own arm and place it on Mingyu’s side, trying not to show a change in expression.

Wonwoo felt something writhing in his stomach as he met Mingyu’s gaze. Their chests were practically touching, and Wonwoo could feel Mingyu’s leg pushing against his own. Wonwoo couldn't remember the last time he’d had to look up at someone, albeit it was only slightly, but Wonwoo found his whole body feeling like it was turning on, breath hitching as he felt Mingyu’s every move against his own body.

Mingyu raised another hand and pressed it against the back Wonwoo’s neck, his fingers edging against the shorter hairs at the back of Wonwoo’s head, the contact with his bare skin making Wonwoo’s breath hitch. Mingyu didn't look away as he gnawed on his already wet lips, pulling Wonwoo irrevocably closer until their chests were pressed together and Wonwoo was sure Mingyu’d feel the thud of Wonwoo’s heartbeat against his chest.

And without breaking eye contact, Mingyu began to move. Wonwoo immediately ran his hand down Mingyu’s side to rest on his hip, the other at the small of his back as Wonwoo shifted slightly, so his thigh slotted between Mingyu’s as both of them started to move their hips in circular movements. 

The friction of the denim of Wonwoo’s jeans against Mingyu was igniting something in Wonwoo that was making every hair on his body stand on end. From Mingyu’s expression he was feeling much the same way, eyes half lidded and cheeks flushed, hand inching under Wonwoo’s shirt and fingers running over the skin exposed at the waistband Wonwoo’s jeans.

The music was covered by the roar of the blood thundering through his ears. His instincts began to take over, and Wonwoo tilted his head to Mingyu’s neck, the skin warm and smooth, the taste of his cologne in Wonwoo’s mouth as he began to graze his teeth over the thin skin.

Wonwoo had to bite down a smirk as he felt Mingyu gasp, his hand coming up Wonwoo’s neck to tangle itself in his hair, Wonwoo still grinding against Mingyu as Mingyu made gasping noises in Wonwoo’s ear, still moving his hips but hand desperately clawing at Wonwoo’s back, and Wonwoo knew there’d be marks there in the morning. He may as well return the favour. 

Wonwoo moved his lips to just above Mingyu’s collarbone, and the shudder that went through Mingyu as Wonwoo opened his mouth against his skin had Wonwoo almost laughing. He moved his lips, bottom teeth just barely grazing the top of Mingyu’s collarbone, pulling the skin into his mouth as Mingyu threw his head back. He leant forward and tilted his face into the side of Wonwoo’s neck, pressing his lips to just where Wonwoo’s ear met his jawline, dragging his teeth along as he tugged at Wonwoo’s hair.

Wonwoo was practically shaking as he moved further up, running his tongue down the side of Mingyu's throat before pulling back, Mingyu almost chasing Wonwoo’s skin. 

Wonwoo looked up at Mingyu, at the red patches on the side of his neck, at his swollen lips and vacant expression, and the pulse that Wonwoo could see hammering in Mingyu’s neck. Wonwoo didn't know how long they’d been at it, but the crowd had thinned slightly, and Wonwoo stepped back, Mingyu’s fingers grazing against the skin of Wonwoo’s back.

Mingyu opened his mouth as though to speak but only made a choking noise. Wonwoo looked him up and down, taking in his flushed face, hair pushed back and sweat shining on his forehead, and jeans definitely tighter than they’d been when Wonwoo had first met him that night.

Wonwoo only smiled, turning and disappearing into the crowd with the intent of finding Soonyoung and escorting him back to their apartment. God only knew how drunk he was, but at least he wouldn't question where Wonwoo had been, or remember seeing the hickeys blossoming on Wonwoo’s neck before he had a chance to hide them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> um. well. this happened, idk how, i have never even touched another human being. lemme know how it was, ty for reading (things r getting more confusing i am sorry)


	4. chapter four

_Lahore, Punjab, Capital of the Sikh Empire, 1811_

 

Mingyu’d barely arrived in the city before he found her. He’d been having the oddest dreams, so after visiting a few more shamans, he’d narrowed it down to a specific city. He knew now than he used to know about past incarnates, his dreams growing more and more detailed, which was helpful and yet something Mingyu didn't want to overthink. He knew she was a girl and that she was angry. It didn't narrow it down majorly, but the city was a definite start, and these things had had a way of working out in the past.

Mingyu hadn't really thought about a backstory, but that had worked out fine. The crowds were heaving as soon as he arrived, and no one gave him a second glance. As was the case in most places Mingyu had travelled to, soldiers patrolled the streets, swords tucked at waists and hands ready on the handles. Construction seemed to be going on everywhere he looked, dust rising heavily in the air and a hum of voices bubbling through it all. As he made his way through the city he saw hoards of people, dressed in swathes of coloured fabric. The distinct smells of foreign places were no longer overwhelming to Mingyu, but it still was a bit of a shock. 

He’d looked ahead at where he would board, unsure of how long he’d stay, and as he arrived at the guesthouse he was once again ignored. There was some form of teahouse in the front section of the guesthouse, and old men huddled in corners, their hair wrapped up on top of their heads, magnificent beards twisted up into the fabric. From what Mingyu knew, people didn't drink alcohol or smoke here. It was a criminal offence, and a small of part of him hoped he wouldn't have to stay here that long, lest his room was searched. He’d been checker as he passed through the gates of the city, but so many people were coming and going they didn't seem to bother looking in his bags.

He stood aimlessly as he adjusted to the surroundings, luggage in tow and vaguely in awe. He was trying to figure out where to go when he felt something hit his gut. Mingyu looked down to see a girl glaring up at him, yelling at him in a language he didn't know, but the sentiment was clear. _Get out of the way you idiot foreigner._

She glared again, sighing as she moved around him, approaching a cluster of men who laughed as they spoke with her, and Mingyu saw her clenching her fists shut tight as she walked back past Mingyu, yelling something at him and disappearing into the back of the guesthouse in a swirl of fabric and calls from the men. The look in her eyes as she yelled at him had been achingly familiar, and was all Mingyu needed to see to be certain. 

 

He went out in the day so it at least looked like he was staying in the guesthouse for a reason (not that anyone was giving him the slightest bit of attention when there were far more important things going on). It didn't take long to learn more about about the girl. She worked at the guest house, seemingly as a waitress and general help, more like a slave in Mingyu’s opinion, and she slept in a different section of the building with a few others. 

The way she was treated sometimes had Mingyu’s teeth set on edge. The older couple who were evidently the owners were constantly yelling after her, ordering her about and dragging her off with a too-tight grip on her arm to yell at her in the backroom. It was in this way Mingyu learnt her name, a scream of ‘Anantya’, followed by a flurry of commands, and a smack around the back of the head if they weren't seen to immediately. 

So no interest was shown as Anantya grew ill. As his life had gone on, Mingyu had realised sheer violence wasn't going to be a viable option in each case. He’d done his research and judged the situation, and figured poison ought to do well in this case. 

It hadn't been difficult to get it to her. Mingyu had observed her comings and goings, and saw that as she ran back and forth, cooking and cleaning and serving, she’d get tired out, her short breaks spent leant against a wall with a cup of water in her hand, occasionally pressing it to her forehead in an effort to cool herself down. 

She barely had any time before she was called on again, and would leave the cup sitting out as she returned to her work. Mingyu would descend upon it, and it only took a few times for her to be rendered unable to work. He would drop in a powder and dissolve it if there was any water left in the cup, and if there wasn't, a few drops of clear liquid lining the bottom would mix in as she added more water from the pump outside.

It had started slowly. Sweat sticking her hair to her forehead, vague dizziness as she stood, until she was dashing out of the room to vomit, rinsing her mouth out with yet more water and then returning to work. It was only as she began to grow so weak that she dropped a tray to the floor, unable to clear it up as she too collapsed that she was ordered back to her room, to bed and out of sight.

Late at night, when the air was thick and clouds covered the moon, Mingyu would sneak into her living quarters, shouts from the street and the barking of dogs in neighbouring buildings covering his footsteps over the creaking floorboards. Everyone else was asleep, and paid no heed as he snuck in and added even more of the powder to the cup filled with water that sat next to her bedside.

In her restless sleep she did not notice him, as she lay tangled in her sheets, tossing and twisting herself further into them, murmuring and eyes moving quickly behind her eyelids. One night she woke, and Mingyu froze, back pressed to the wall and speeding heart in his mouth. Yet she did not see him, only lifting her hand with great difficulty, eyes barely open as she took gasping drinks of water, unknowingly only furthering her condition.

 

It had been barely two weeks but Mingyu could feel she was near the end as he once again left his room, footsteps less careful now as he walked. He passed through the hallways, stopping slightly as he heard laughter coming from a small room in the back quarters of the teahouse. The door was slightly ajar, and Mingyu couldn't resist stopping to look through. 

A group of men sat under candlelight, speaking in a way that showed they knew they ought to be quiet, but didn't care to make the effort. There were metal drums were lined against the wall, and it was so cramped the men sat leaning against them as they poured liquid into large containers made of coloured glass, doyens of others already filled, sitting against the other wall. The smell immediately gave it away as alcohol, and even if it didn't the red faces and constant hushed laughter would've done so in itself. No kingdom was without their vices it seemed.

Mingyu didn't think much of it as he continued towards Anantya’s room. He’d tried not to use her name, but no matter how hard he tried to think of her only as a means to an end, her humanity got the better of him.  As he came into her room, he came to the realisation that this was likely the last time he’d need to come. A small window shone in a little light, shadowing the room and the lack of objects in it.

The smell of vomit had overwhelmed him in the beginning, but now it was acidic if nothing else, straight stomach acid being the only thing left in her now. She wasn't turning this night, and lay deadly still, the rattling sounds of her breathing being the only thing left that showed Mingyu that he had anything else left to do. 

Her hair lay out in a fan around her, thick and dark, and it was with a slight shock Mingyu saw her eyes were open. As he neared her however he saw they were glassy, and focused on a point beyond Mingyu’s seeing. It was with a sense of futility that Mingyu added more poison to her water, stirring it in and pressing it into her hand, her fingers closing around it on reflex and, with great difficulty, raising it to chapped lips and swallowing hard.  

She still held the cup, and Mingyu pried it out her hands, her fingers deathly cold even in the heat of the night. She closed her eyes again, murmuring to herself, and Mingyu left with heavy footsteps as she grew quiet. Mingyu did not sleep that night.

 

He was packed by the time the sun rose, bringing his luggage with him as he ate for the last time in the dark tearoom. An older man served him as had been the case ever since Anantya had been unable to. He was permanently grimacing, and it only deepened as Mingyu attempted to communicate with him.

Through his limited knowledge of the local language and universally understood hand gestures, he managed to ask where the girl was, and ask how she was. The man only made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat, and shrugged, leaving with a grumble. Something thundered in Mingyu’s head and he found himself clenching his fists tight as he stood, calling someone over and counting out whatever he owed from the stay. 

As he left, he didn't look back. He looked around the street, at the crowds and the merchants and the soldiers. It was one such soldier he approached, who had looked at him, confusion furrowing his brow as Mingyu spoke with him. 

“Alcohol,” was all Mingyu had to say as he gestured as the building he’d just left from, and the soldier’s mouth hardened, speaking to another soldier and jerking his head towards the building, his words angry. His friend had ran off, and the solider nodded once at him, Mingyu nodding back.

With this he left, looking back over his shoulder as the scene began to grow out of sight. A cluster of soldiers had formed outside, deliberating over the situation, nodding to each other as one ventured in, coming back out and calling to his comrades, who all thundered in at once, swords raised. 

As Mingyu travelled out of the city, he felt satisfaction humming in his chest, and tried not to overthink his actions. The sun was beginning to set as he felt his heart rate slow once again.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope this made sense, i'll try n update soon but i actually have to start trying at school now and tbh every free minute i have is spent crying over otabek from yuri on ice deadass. leave a comment if u want n thanks for reading!!


	5. chapter five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ayyyy

He’d been having trouble sleeping. It was expected for someone who’d not found their soulmate to need less sleep, but since Wonwoo was so active he’d still slept considerably more than the rest of his friends. He wasn't sure why he couldn't sleep, only that his mind would race, restlessly turning over and over on himself until he gave up, studying or going for a run or anything to take his mind off things.

Society had adapted itself to cater to these poor souls who would be up all night; establishments staying open late so at least these people felt like they had some kind of place in the world. And Wonwoo tried to be productive. He cleaned the house, did the dishes, all the normal things expected in a functioning household, because god knows Hansol never got out of bed, and if Soonyoung ever saw a mop he’d probably try to pole dance on it. 

So that was how Wonwoo ended up at the supermarket at half-past midnight on a Saturday night. He’d not felt up to going out tonight, or even the night before. Junhui almost started crying when Wonwoo wouldn't say why.

It needed done, not that anyone in that goddamn apartment cared. Despite the fact that every one of them had stopped ageing, and didn't seem to think they required proper nutrition, Hansol needed his protein, so they needed eggs. Jun’s liver had been acting up again, so that meant green tea and plenty of vegetables, which Wonwoo would have to figure out to sneak into Jun’s meals somehow. Jisoo didn't eat meat on Fridays so they needed more canned fish, and Seungcheol had been eating nothing but tubes of cookie dough and those fish pastries filled with soybean paste for the past three days. Soonyoung was lactose intolerant (like most of them, but he was the only one who would admit it), so Wonwoo needed to get him more vitamins and his damn soy milk that was impossible to find.

And as Wonwoo leant heavily on the trolley, shuffling through as the handle dug into his stomach, he was reminded that they were again, out of milk. Hansol would drink it straight from the carton and leave it on the counter to go off, and Wonwoo would be damned if he had to use any of that creamer shit. 

He almost audibly groaned as he swung out into a main aisle that ran the length of the supermarket, but stopped himself. His heart leapt into his throat and he forced it back down, walking without thinking towards the aisle where he just saw Kim Mingyu go down.

Wonwoo tried not to seem like he was lurking, but definitely failed, hiding behind a display and peeking his head out around the shelf, looking down the empty aisle at where Mingyu stood. His trolley was full to the brim with nothing but cases of beer and instant noodles. Mingyu was holding a box of cereal in each hand, eyes moving between the two, eyebrows furrowed and tongue poking out his mouth, staring at each of them intently before eventually putting them both in his trolley. 

Wonwoo panicked slightly, ducking his head back behind the shelf and swallowing, hard, but as he looked back he saw Mingyu walking backwards down the aisle. He started to run, pushing the cart in front of him and then jumping on the back bar, stifled laughter bouncing off the shelves. He almost crashed, but swerved, stumbling off of it and clearing his throat, going back to browsing the shelves of granola bars.

Wonwoo pulled his head back, turning and heading towards the checkout and trying desperately not to smile.

 

 

Seungcheol didn't often ask to meet with Wonwoo. They all saw each other almost every day, so if anything needed discussed amongst their little group it was done with little ceremony. 

But Seungcheol had texted at three in the morning, asking Wonwoo to meet in a coffee shop they all liked to frequent after class, and for it to be Wonwoo alone. Wonwoo had tried not to feel surprised, after all, they were friends, and friends could make an effort hang out together without it being in a group, but it didn't change the fact that Seungcheol had never asked such a thing, and that Wonwoo was a little worried.

He’d barely pushed through the door when he saw Seungcheol, seated at a tiny table by the window, two cups in front of him and staring down at them, eyes boring down into the table. He didn't even look up when Wonwoo sat down, pulling off his layers of coats and having to kick Seungcheol in the shins to get him to meet Wonwoo’s eyes.

The cafe was a grimy little place, frequented purely out of convenience of proximity, and that Chan worked here in the summers and was fun to tease on the job. But the coffee was decent, and as Wonwoo took a drink it slipped down easily, Seungcheol having already added the number of sugars Wonwoo liked.

He didn't speak, just held eye contact with Seungcheol and waited for him to begin. After all, it was Seungcheol who’d dragged Wonwoo out into the cold and to the cafe, and Seungcheol wasn't one to make an effort to leave his apartment unless there was alcohol involved, or there was a reasonable threat of getting kicked out of the university. There had to be a reason.

“Jun doesn't drink does he?” was what Seungcheol eventually said, and the randomness of it almost had Wonwoo choke. 

“You’re right,” Wonwoo replied, knowing it was true and wondering where the hell Seungcheol was going. In all the years Wonwoo had known Junhui, he’d stuck almost exclusively to drugs. “He doesn’t.”

“Do you remember last Chuseok, when you all went back home except me and Jun? When my dad couldn't get time off work so they had to stay in Japan, and my brother’d been doing his year abroad?”

Wonwoo remembered.

“And everywhere was closed or boring so we’d just stayed in my apartment, but Jun hadn't brought anything with him and Jisoo’d hidden all the pot so we wouldn't use it all up while he was away. And the whole time I was like ‘Jun, just drink’ and then the night before you guys all came back he finally did.”

“What did he try to makeout with you or something?” Wonwoo asked, receiving a glare and a kick from Seungcheol. “No seriously, what happened?”

“Well the reason he doesn't drink I guess is he talks. A lot.” Seungcheol said, eyes dropping to his coffee cup. “And he told me about his soulmate.”

And at this, Wonwoo choked. He’d had his private suspicions, about Junhui. The main thing was he looked a little older than eighteen. Jun’d just blamed it on his extensive good looks, but his face was more defined, more mature than the rest of them. It wasn't as though he was currently ageing. Wonwoo’d known him long enough to see that for himself. The only way Jun could look older than eighteen would be if he’d met his soulmate and the soulmate had died before their time. But surely, if that was the case, they would've met again by now? And Jun was old, older than anyone Wonwoo knew. It was evident in the way he spoke and the way he held himself, in the way his eyes lost focus from time to time and in the boxes he kept under his bed.

“It started off normal, just talking about life and shit,” Seungcheol continued. “But then he got all distant and started talking and talking until he passed out, and at first I didn't really get it but then it all sorta came together and it’s been bugging me ever since.”

“Seungcheol, it you don't start talking sense I’ll punch you, I swear.” Wonwoo said, waving over a waitress and ordering them both another cup of coffee.

“So, Jun’s old.” Seungcheol eventually started, sighing deeply. “Old as balls. Like, emperors and the world is flat old. And he grew up nice, his dad was some kind of government official he said, and he was educated, and he only had to wait a few years to meet his soulmate. So everything was going good for our Junhui.”

“They’d barely known each other a year, and they’d only realised they were soulmates a few days before some war started, I can’t remember which. Jun’d heard from one of his fathers friends that the army was too small, and there weren't enough men in the countryside that were fit for their armies, so they had to start looking in the cities. Jun said his soulmate was from a wealthy family too, but since they were higher up in the nobility his soulmate was exempt. And Jun wasn't.”

“The war had already started by the time conscription notices started being put up around the city, and rumours were coming in that men were just being massacred, going off to battle with no one coming back alive. It was a death sentence, being called up, Jun had said.”

“So they tried to get him out of it. Aside from like, cutting off one of his legs, there wasn't much either of them could do. So his soulmate did some digging around the war office, and found out that you would be be enlisted whether you’d met your soulmate or not, but if they’d died within a few months of you meeting them, you were exempt.”

“Since this was hundreds of fucking years ago, everyone was like crazy spiritual, even the military, so they thought that if someone hadn't had a chance to be with their soulmate, they should be allowed to live until they met the new reincarnation of their soulmate, so they could be together again. So if you could prove it, you could be exempt from the army, so you had the chance to survive till you met them again.”

Wonwoo could already feel where this was going and his blood began to run a little slower as Seungcheol stopped to catch his breath.

“So his soulmate killed himself. A few days before they’d gone to Jun’s father and told him they’d realised they were soulmates since it’d been a few months since they’d met. It gave them evidence they’d only just found out. And then his soulmate took poison, and he died, knowing that Jun would be safe, and some version of himself would be with him in the future.”

“That’s fucking heartbreaking,” Wonwoo said, hands wrapped tight around his mug and chest heavy.

“Not even. Because they never met again.”

Seungcheol stopped to inhale, shaky, raising his cup to his lips and knocking the rest of it back.

“It’s been hundreds of years and Jun’s still not found him again. He’s travelled everywhere, been everywhere, and nothing’s come of it. Junhui’s a rich guy, and you know as well as I do there’s shady shit people can do with this whole soulmate thing. He has informants and trackers and stuff I don’t even want to ask about, but still nothing. Whoever his soulmate was, it doesn't seem like he’s coming back.”

“I’m not just telling you this to fuck you up Wonwoo,” Seungcheol said, “It’s cause I realised something.”

“None of this is random,” he said, leaning his stomach across the table, closer to Wonwoo. “Jun tried to mess with the universe, they tried to play the system right? And the universe didn't let them. You don’t stop ageing in the hopes that you’ll fumble about and eventually find your soulmate. It’s planned. There’s something conscious in the fates that is aware of us, and what we do, and they act accordingly. There are forces at work that none of us could ever begin to comprehend, that know-“

“Seungcheol,” Wonwoo said, raising his hand to his friend’s forehead and pushing him back into his seat. “I appreciate your crisis. But it’s been months. Why are you telling me this now?”

Seungcheol sighed, slumping down in his seat and running his ring finger around the rim of his coffee mug.

“I’ve started ageing again. I've found him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk what even happened here but im rolling with it. this is gonna make sense i swear. kinda. also i might not post soon cause my exams are only like two months away so school is shit also iM SEEING BLOCK B ON SUNDAY. buzzed. !!!!. right. thanks for reading!!


	6. chapter six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wee short thing

_All Soul’s College, University of Oxford, 1925_

Mingyu’d been following this one for a while. Despite the fact that he never seemed to go anywhere interesting, and so had been very easy to track, he spent most of his time in his university halls, and Mingyu couldn't very well follow him in there could he? He’d had a hard enough time blending in as it is, being one of very few foreign students that appeared to be studying here, and an even harder time passing himself off as being from Hong Kong, given the political situation of any of the other countries he usually faked being from. His Cantonese had always been clumsy. But despite all his difficulty, he’d formed a plan over the past few months that ought to do.

It’d been a while since Mingyu had been to England, spending the last few years far away from Europe and its politics. But as had happened these past few times, he began to feel a tug, telling him he ought to pay a visit for reasons now familiar to him. The dreams started soon after, giving him more of an idea of where to go, but it still had taken Mingyu a while to find him this time.

Sinclair, for that was all Mingyu had picked up on in way of a name from his peers yelling at him across the quadrangle, rarely left the halls. Of course he went back and forth to his lectures, and had been known to frequent the coffeehouse nearest his college, but despite Mingyu’s efforts, he couldn't find an opportunity to get close enough to the boy.

That was until the year began to near its end, and the post exam haze began to settle over the University. There were various formals and dinners to attend, but it was after such events that Mingyu knew he could act. They would last far longer than the given running time, long into the night fuelled by alcohol, opium, and cheap lovers the men would take turns paying for the night, holed up in crowded rooms filled with smoke. 

Mingyu fit in well enough, his disheveled hair, white tie and tails, and far-off smile getting him in without so much as a second glance. It was just after two in the morning, and Mingyu found himself in a cramped little room that resembled what Mingyu had once known as an opium den. A group of men were playing cards around a tiny little table, although only around half of them seemed conscious. There were a few more splayed out on various items of furniture and on the floor, all seemingly passed out if it weren't for the cigarettes they still held in bony hands, still managing to raise limp arms to chapped lips, puffing smoke up into the yellowed ceiling, minds far gone. A gramophone was playing somewhere in the room, although Mingyu could not see it. Someone was humming along with what was playing, slightly out of time but happy none the less.

It was on one such plush sofa that Mingyu saw him. In a very convincing manner, if he said so himself, Mingyu stumbled over, flopping down next to Sinclair and throwing his head back, mimicking the way the other drunken boys seemed. He turned his head to find Sinclair already looking at him, mouth slightly open and brow furrowed.

“Hello,” he said, voice confused as he leant closer to Mingyu, examining his face. “Have we…I don’t think we’ve met. Have we?”

“I don’t believe we have,” Mingyu replied, quiet and smiling. 

“Oh then I’m terribly rude aren't I,” Sinclair said, sticking his hand out towards Mingyu. “Sinclair, Alexander Sinclair.”

Mingyu shook his hand, Sinclair, or, Alexander’s grip was firm, despite how drunk he seemed. He appeared to be trying to identify Mingyu, taking in the details of his face and Mingyu took the opportunity to stare back.

Despite the obvious difference in ethnicity, Mingyu could still make out familiar features in this strangers face. The point of his chin from a sloping jawline, the line of his nose, and the way his lips seemed to curve upwards despite no attempt to smile. The way he spoke, a timbre that had jilted Mingyu slightly, and as always, always, something in the eyes that resonated within Mingyu and made him want to look away.

He tried to focus on the differences instead, in the paler skin, the smaller mouth, the green eyes and fair hair and the fact that this was different, this was not the same, and this was necessary. This was something he must do, and the clenching feeling within his chest only came from the nerves surrounding what he was about to go through with.

Mingyu pulled a flask from his jacket pocket, unscrewing the cap and raising it to his lips, leaning his head back but ensuring he made no contact with it. He could feel Alexander’s eyes still on him and he turned with an amiable smile, offering the flask to the other boy, who took it with no hesitation.

Alexander’s eyes fluttered closed as he threw back the drink, lashes hitting against cheekbones and stirring the part within Mingyu that wanted to knock the flask from Alexander’s hands and force him to vomit until all of it had left his body. The part that had wanted to know more than Alexander’s surname, and wanted to know where he had grown up, whether he had actually wanted to study classics and ancient history or if was chosen for him, wanted to know how many siblings he had or whether he had a mother who grew worried with every day he didn't write.

But this part was soon muffled, as Alexander handed back the flask with a sheepish smile. 

“Christ, that's strong stuff,” he said, blinking and running his tongue over his lips. “what the hell is it?”

“Oh, this and that,” Mingyu said, smiling slightly. “A hell of a lot of brandy, among other things.”

“Well, it sure kicks in fast,” Alexander said, leaning back and closing his eyes, speech already slightly slurred. His hair had fallen in front of his eyes and he couldn't seem to find the strength to raise his arm to push it back, shaking his head in an effort to move it.

Mingyu found himself smiling, and knew it was time for him to go.

“You’re leaving now?” Alexander asked, eyes half lidded and arm reaching up to loosely grab the ends of Mingyu’s jacket as he tried to stand. “I’d ask your name but I’m certain I won’t remember.”

Mingyu smiled at him, taking in his appearance and trying to remember it. He leant down and pushed Alexander’s hair out of his eyes, and it felt like silk between Mingyu's fingers, but already strands began to fall back down.

“We’ll see each other again. Soon enough,” Mingyu said, already stepping back to leave.

“Yes I’m quite sure we will,” Alexander Sinclair said, body limp and hair falling back into his eyes, eyes becoming glassy as the smoke clouds passed over his head. 

Mingyu found he couldn't look at him any longer, and turned, leaving the room and taking the stairs two at a time, bursting out into the night, air cold and stars burning bright above him. He could already feel his racing heart beginning to slow, his body stilling once again.

He began to walk down the street, towards where his driver was waiting. His luggage had already been sent forward to Portsmouth, and by the time he reached the city it’d be time to board. This time tomorrow, he’d be on a boat, away from England, and away from any memory that this had ever happened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> soz for not posting in ages but my exams r like rlly soon, but i'll try n keep this ticking over!! thanks for readingg


	7. chapter seven

_“Please- if not for yourself. For me. I couldn't live with it.”_

 

_“But I couldn't live in a world without you.”_

 

_“You can. You will.”_

 

It’d been fourteen years since Wonwoo had dreamt and still been able to recall it in the morning. He had never been so relieved when he had began to forget his dreams, that the recurring dreams that plagued him all through his youth had finally lost their hold on him. He tried not to think about it, what it meant when he woke up that morning and for the first time in so long, he could still hear the voices from his dream the night before, as clear in his mind as the face of the one who had spoken them.

 

Seungcheol had been a bit of a mess after he’d spoken with Wonwoo, and it’d taken a few days for him to raise the subject of his soulmate again, this time when all of their friend group were present. Only Hansol had been surprised. 

Jeonghan and Seungcheol had been friends all throughout their childhood, but in a coincidence that Jun had taken to calling fate, both of their families had to move to opposite ends of the world when they were both sixteen. They’d kept in subtle contact, but it’d only been a few months ago that Seungcheol had realised they were both now attending the same university. And that they were soulmates. 

Of course, they were all happy for Seungcheol, but Wonwoo knew he wasn't alone with the bittersweet taste in his mouth as he expressed this happiness. Now, Seungcheol would not only spend more time with his soulmate, but he would begin to grow old. There was every possibility the whole lot of them would find their soulmates within the year, but there were equal chances that some of them were a century away from seeing a grey hair on their heads.

And Wonwoo’s eyes involuntarily strayed to Junhui as Seungcheol spoke. Wonwoo hadn't brought up what he had learnt of Jun’s past, any feelings of hurt at being deprived this information despite the length of their friendship being completely overshadowed by the immense sadness he felt for Jun. To go hundreds, maybe a thousand years, without knowing if today would be the day he would find him again. Wonwoo couldn't imagine it. Surely Jun must’ve given up by now, but despite sleeping around, he never strayed into anything past a one night stand. Wonwoo had always been aware of the far-off look Jun would take whenever anyone mentioned soulmates, but he was now in a better position to place it as heartbreak.

But despite any qualms, everyone was happy for Seungcheol, happiness only second to a desire to meet Jeonghan, somewhere other than a nightclub or overheard phone calls late at night when Seungcheol thought no one was awake.

That was how they ended up bunched together in a booth in the shitty little diner they went to, waiting for Jeonghan and his friends. Seungcheol was sat next to Wonwoo, his leg shaking violently under the table. Wonwoo couldn't help but feel nervous himself. He’d tried not to react when Seungcheol said Jeonghan would be bringing his own friends with him, but something twisted in his chest at the thought it. Even sitting here just now, Wonwoo could feel his heart hammering in his chest, and he found himself repeatedly raising two fingers to his neck, pushing under his jaw to feel the pulse that he feared would break through the thin skin.

 

It all happened quickly. Jeonghan with his friends in tow all came stumbling into the cafe, shouting and laughing amongst themselves, not even stopping to think as they piled into the booth, somehow fitting eleven people into it in a way that had the waitress slightly awestruck. Jeonghan clambered over Wonwoo to sit next to Seungcheol, immediately fitting his head into the crook of Seungcheol’s neck, Seungcheol’s hand already finding its way into Jeonghan’s hair. The scene had something rising in Wonwoo that felt unsettlingly like envy. 

They all went around introducing themselves, and it was only as it was Wonwoo’s turn that he looked up at all of them, smiling and trying not to register Mingyu’s absence. The waitress came back, and they all ordered, mainly just coffees but the odd hot chocolate monstrosity was requested, as well as green tea for Junhui at the insistence of Wonwoo.

 

They’d just settled into casual conversation when the bell on the door of cafe rang, and Mingyu walked in. Wonwoo tried desperately not to look up, but he could feel heat flowing from his chest to every reach of his body. Mingyu didn't have to try to look for them, their group standing out amongst the depressed students that occupied other tables in the cafe.

He came over, standing next to the booth as though figuring out how to fit himself into the huge group, eyes scanning for a gap in the seats, eyes flickering over to Wonwoo and stilling. Wonwoo could see Mingyu inhale, looking away from Wonwoo and seeming to settle on Jun, who was sat next to Wonwoo. But if Wonwoo got an inhale, Jun got an asthma attack.

 

“Junhui,” was all that left Mingyu’s mouth but it was enough to silence their entire table, and in turn the entire cafe. Wonwoo looked over at Jun, who’d gone white as a corpse, standing and edging out of the booth, hands shaking slightly as he stood in front of Mingyu. Wonwoo could almost feel the held breaths of the table, before Jun broke out into a smile, grabbing Mingyu and pulling him into a tight hug, both laughing shakily as they thudded each other repeatedly on the back, pulling back to examine each other’s faces. Jun opened his mouth as though to say something, but turned, realising the company they were in, and the stir they’d caused.

“Are you guys soulmates or something?” Seokmin came out with, earning a bark of laughter from Jun.

“No,” Mingyu said, shaking his head and looking vaguely amused by the thought. “Junhui’s an old friend.”

“We go way back,” Jun said, the smirk on his face and the sheepish grin on Mingyu’s implying more than was said. “Gods, when did I last see you? Singapore wasn't it?”

At this Mingyu’s face fell slightly, the smile dropping from his eyes, but no one else picked up on it.

“My friend you betray my age,” Mingyu said, hitting Jun in the shoulder with the palm of his hand. “It must’ve been, has it really been that long since we last spoke?”

“And who’s fault is that?” Jun asked, vaguely accusatory but smiling nonetheless. He turned to face the group, who’d been watching the odd little exchange with interest, even Hansol paying attention. “This is who I’ve been forced to shack up with ever since you dropped off the face of the earth."

"You’ll know Seungcheol, he’s the guest of honour today, and that is my son Chan. That’s Hansol and this is probably the only time you will see him awake, that’s Jisoo who’s too good for us, my darling Wonwoo who is the only reason I still have functioning organs, and you’ll have probably seen Soonyoung stripping at some point whether you know it or not."

“Nice to meet you all,” Mingyu said, but his eyes lingered on Wonwoo. Jun sat back down, squeezing his way up halfway onto Wonwoo’s lap to make room for Mingyu. It was only from this close proximity that Wonwoo could make out their hushed conversation over the resumed chatter of their friends.

“We need to catch up. Properly.” Jun said, an hand around Mingyu’s arm, fingers digging in a little too tight. “Where the hell have you been?”

“You know where I’ve been Jun.” 

“Don’t tell me,” Jun replied, voice hushed and disappointed. Wonwoo busied himself with his coffee and tried to look interested in whatever the hell the rest of them were talking about. “You’re not still-“

“Not here.” Mingyu said, voice hard and Jun immediately stiffening. It took Wonwoo a second to realise he’d spoken in Mandarin, but Wonwoo’s travels and extensive free time had given him a basic grasp on the language. 

“Why not here Mingyu?” Jun replied in Mandarin, voice level but his fingers digging even further into Mingyu’s arm, leaving white circles where his fingers continued to push in. “You’ve found him again haven't you?”

Mingyu didn't say anything, and by that time Soonyoung had begun pestering Jun about setting Jun up with a discovered mutual friend between Soonyoung and Seokmin.

“He goes to our dance class so you know he’s sexy, he’s Chinese, and he has that cute face but smart mouth thing that you like. You should let me give you his number!”

“Maybe I will,” Jun said, turning away from Mingyu and looking at Seokmin with a smirk. “depends on how attached he’ll get.”

“Ah he seems clingy, but our Haohao isn't so innocent.”

If Wonwoo wasn't sitting so close to Jun he never would've heard him swallow, hard.

“Haohao?” Jun said, smiling with his teeth, voice sounding strained to Wonwoo but no one else picking up on it. His breathing quickened slightly but still barely showing it. “Ah, I have an ex with a name like that, sorry Soonyoungie, I’ll have to pass.”

Under the groans of Soonyoung and his newfound friend Seokmin, Wonwoo took Jun’s hand under the table, and let him dig his fingernails into the palm of Wonwoo’s hand until they stood to leave. There was no deliberation, just the group all finishing quickly and standing, bills payed in a way that had Wonwoo pitying the waitress, all of them leaving and going into the dark, the cafe practically empty as Wonwoo looked back through the grimy windows. 

 

Jun’d merged ahead to talk to Jisoo, leaving Wonwoo at the back of the group, walking alone. He was almost grateful for the solitude, but it lasted only for a second as he could see Mingyu’s steps slowing, dropping back to walk next to Wonwoo. 

Neither of them spoke, and they continued following their friends, steps syncing up and the distance between the pair and the rest of their friends increasing.

“I didn't know you knew Junhui,” Mingyu finally said, voice toneless at the surface and Wonwoo’s eyes drifting over to look at his face without thinking. His face seemed blank, but there was something in the turn of his eyebrows that had Wonwoo puffing out a breath in annoyance.

“Is that a problem?” Wonwoo said, voice tenser than he felt, more on edge than anything else. His blood was flowing fast in his veins, aware of his heartbeat all over his body.

“I haven't decided yet.” Mingyu said, staring at his feet and scuffing them slightly. It took a moment before he’d realised what he’d said, but the muscle tightening in his jaw told Wonwoo that Mingyu hadn't meant to reveal so much.

“How do you know Jun?” Wonwoo asked in an attempt to get Mingyu to talk more.

“We ran in similar circles, had some mutual friends. Time made lonely things out of the both of us.” Mingyu answered, staring off ahead, and for some reason Wonwoo’s blood ran cold. “What about you?”

“He sold me drugs every night and tried to make out with me just as often.” Wonwoo replied, smiling at the memory, not noticing how Mingyu drew his fingers in to clench his hand in a fist. “I’d only just stopped ageing, I was studying in Hong Kong. We kept in touch, travelled together. He’s stuck around the longest.”

“Are you close?” Mingyu asked, turning to look at Wonwoo for the first time, eyebrows furrowed. It was only now that Wonwoo realised how far back they’d fallen, their friends far ahead, shouts only barely audible. 

“He’s my best friend.” Wonwoo said, voice soft. “One of them anyway.”

Wonwoo expected Mingyu to say something in reply but when he glanced over at him he saw Mingyu staring dead ahead again. His teeth were grit together, mouth a firm line, but his eyes were glassy, and he kept swallowing. He’s thinking, something told Wonwoo, and he tried not to question where the information was coming from. 

“You’d never do anything to hurt him?” Wonwoo said, speaking up again, Mingyu turning to look at Wonwoo, movement sharp in a way that Wonwoo was sure must’ve hurt his neck. “Jun.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’m sure you know more about him than I do. But you’ve not seen him lately. He’s been acting different these past few months. I’m worried about him. I thought you should know.”

“What kind of worried? Drinking? Drugs?” Mingyu sounded almost exasperated, eyes rolling slightly. “It’s nothing he’s not done before.”

“Lonely.” Wonwoo said, eyes dropping to watch his feet again. “He seems lonely, more than when I first knew him. You seem like you were good friends, once anyway. He’s old. It’s hard for him, to keep going like this. I'm worried about how much longer he'll keep going. He holds onto what he has. Don’t take away what he already has.”

“I couldn't ever hurt Jun.” Mingyu said, almost annoyed at himself, shaking his head slightly.

The silence resumed, thin between them. Wonwoo wasn't quite sure what are was talking about, if he was honest, but something pulled the words out of him in a way that he hoped Mingyu would understand. 

Their steps quickened until they caught up with their now slowing friends, ambling along and laughing amongst themselves, beginning to disperse now. Wonwoo didn't miss the fact that Seungcheol headed in the opposite direction of their apartment, his arm around Jeonghan’s waist and a shaky smile thrown in Wonwoo’s direction.

He also didn't miss the way Jun walked off with Mingyu, and how as they grew further from the group they began to argue, hushed but carrying over the empty street, words unable to be made out but tone clear. Wonwoo knew Jun would come back when he was ready, and sped up to join Chan, immediately laughing at something he’d said, shoving all thoughts of Mingyu to the back of his mind, and all anxiety to the bottom of his stomach, alongside other feelings he’d buried there before he could be foolish enough to examine them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes. things are, happening. ty for reading n shit, im rlly worried that im not clear enough with whats happening so if u ever have any questions feel free to hmu in the comments!! tytyty for reading


	8. chapter eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow?? an update with less than two weeks in between?? amazing. plot being clarified?? inconceivable

_Tokyo, Meiji-jidai, Japan, 1873_

 

As Mingyu’s money had accumulated over the years, he’d began to wonder what the point was. Obviously, the whole reason he had done this was for the sake of caring for his family, and now not only those who were still alive but the descendants of those who had now passed. The money he could gain in all the extra time he’d taken for himself was a key factor in that. But a few wise investments and many years had given Mingyu the kind of wealth he’d never even believed to have been real. A few learnt mannerisms and well placed comments about where he got his money from had kept him from ever being questioned, but even the way he was able to dress now had people treating him with far more respect he was used to. 

It was in this way that Mingyu would manage to fool new people he met that he was in fact a Very Powerful Person. In all honesty it had been mostly out of curiosity; he would've managed just fine being treated the same as he always had, but as he came to Japan almost a year ago, following the tug in his stomach, Mingyu had been able to set himself up as an influential man, and therefore make himself some very influential acquaintances.

It was these acquaintances that had taken Mingyu to discuss business (to get drunk and argue about politics), and Mingyu had found himself at a Geisha house. He’d heard of them before, but, for reasons that were apparent, he found himself uninterested in spending extortionate amounts of money to be entertained by young girls who he had to pay to give him the time of day.

But it was as Mingyu sat, drinking sake and fending off provocations by his companions, that he saw her. She was making steady, quiet conversation with a member of their party, her hands in her lap and a small frown on her face as she spoke. She looked up as Mingyu stared at her, their eyes meeting for a moment and Mingyu tried to think he had imagined her small intake of breath. She turned away quickly, going back to looking intently at the man. 

This was why. This was why Mingyu had ended up with so much money. Because this time around she was training to become a geisha, and to even get close enough to look at her would cost him a figure that would've once made him choke. But he was a step closer now. These drunken men he associated himself with were longstanding patrons of the establishment. With their good word, he was halfway there. 

And with that, he raised a glass to them, all too drunk to question the toast, letting out cheers and Mingyu allowing himself to fall deeper into his drunkenness and trying not to look out of the corner of his eye.

 

After visiting twice more, she spoke to him. It was only to offer him more tea, but the way she giggled behind her hand as Mingyu stammered out an answer felt like progress. 

As they were leaving, it was only Mingyu and one of the men he had came with left in the smoky tearoom, as well as one of the younger apprentices. Mingyu had grown fond of this particular man, Oshiro Kakeru, he’d called himself, giving Mingyu a thud on the back and constant bursts laughter when they’d first met.

“You’re lovely aren't you?” Oshiro asked, grinning and walking over to the apprentice. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen,” she replied, voice lower than Mingyu had expected but pleasant none the less. “My name is Chise.”

“Chise?” Mingyu commented, humouring Oshiro. “That’s a very pretty name.”

“It means little star,” she said, ducking her head, seeming genuinely embarrassed. 

“Well my little star,” came the reply, Oshiro leaning into Chise and smirking. “Your name can also mean wisdom I believe, so maybe you could tell me something?”

“That other woman,” he continued, as Chise didn't reply. It was late, and her makeup had began to fade slightly at the base of her neck, as Mingyu could see a thick blush beginning to rise there. “Is she new?”

“Chiyo?” The girl said, her arched eyebrows raising slightly. “No, she has been here ever since I began my work.”

“Are you not mistaken, little star? I’ve frequented your lovely establishment for a few months now, and I haven’t had the pleasure of her company until lately. Forgive me, I’m only curious.”

“She was taken ill,” Chiyo said, speaking slowly, as though choosing her words with care. “and was unable to work for a period of time. I can assure you she is quite well now. Do you perhaps prefer Chiyo to me, Oshiro-san?”

Whilst Oshiro spluttered at the girl’s teasing, Mingyu let his mind trace back to the other girls who had served them that night. The other girl had been called Michiko, or something similar, so that left Chiyo to be who Mingyu had been looking for. If she had been ill lately, then surely it wouldn't raise many questions, should she grow unwell again.

Mingyu shut out the sounds of Oshiro laughing and the teasing voice of the young girl as she delayed clearing up the discarded tea sets strewn about the room, his mind filled with thoughts of packaged poison and an alibi.

 

It didn't take long for Mingyu to see her again. Over the coming weeks Mingyu found himself returning often, and often accompanying Oshiro. He seemed to have taking a liking to the young girl, Chise, who they’d spoken to, and was often sufficiently distracted by her that Mingyu was able to speak with Chiyo.

It was never anything important, mindless chatter as she poured him tea, as he’d been opting to stay mostly sober, as someone needed to make sure they got home, and it would certainly not be Oshiro.

Around the third or fourth time was when Mingyu gave her the first dose. Over time it’d become more refined, and now he only needed to slip the poison three or so times for it to take affect. After that, they’d be dead within a week.

 

The next time Mingyu visited with Oshiro, Chiyo was visibly more tired, her chatter more sporadic, and even under her makeup Mingyu could see she was flushed, fanning herself rapidly. She happily drank the water that Mingyu offered her, unknowingly furthering her death as had happened to those before her.

It was only a few days after that Mingyu visited once again. Chiyo was there as always, but she was silent, sitting next to Mingyu and sipping tea with shaky hands. Mingyu made no move for conversation, and he supposed Chiyo was grateful for that. 

It was only as another man called her over, voice gaining an edge as she didn't respond. He yelled sharply and she looked up with a start, rising from her kneeled positon, elegant even in her degrading state. She turned to walk towards the man, but her legs folded beneath her as she fell to the ground.

Mingyu managed to catch her head in his arms, instantly asking himself why he bothered to do that, when a head injury would've been a perfectly good means to her end. But he cast these thoughts from his head, faking concern with more ease than he thought himself able of as the other girls jumped to their feet, huddling around her, one running out of the room to go fetch a superior.

Chiyo didn't open her eyes, and the worried chatter of the girls was mixed with equally worried apologies directed towards the other men in the room. The girls seemed to be growing frantic, only furthered as a flustered woman came in, bowing deeply to the men as she spoke rapidly to the girls.

A couple of the girls made as though to drag Chiyo out of the room, but with a noise of vague disgust Mingyu stopped them, crouching and pulling Chiyo into his arms, cradling her to his chest and standing, carrying her almost like a baby. He hadn't noticed how small she was until now.

“Momoko, show the gentleman to Chiyo’s room.” The superior directed at one of the other girls, cold authority in her strained voice, the young girl nodding repeatedly.

“Sana, run ahead and ensure Chiyo’s room is in a state fit for our visitor to enter,” Mingyu heard the superior say to a girl no older than fifteen, and he didn't miss the hand that dug deep into the girl’s side, or how she winced. “Now.”

Mingyu headed down the corridor Sana had ran down, deliberately taking his time. Chiyo weighed barely anything in his arms, and he suspected most of it was coming from her heavy robes, which were brushing slightly against the floor as they hung down. She didn't move as he held her close to his chest, and he could hear the rattle of her breath. He glanced down only once, and the lax shape of her mouth stirred Mingyu’s stomach in the way something always managed to do, every time, without fail.

As Mingyu neared the living quarters of the girls the corridor became narrower, and as he glanced about him he saw open doors, revealing tiny rooms with half a dozen sleeping mats crammed in, the slumped figures of sleeping girls visible only for a second as he passed, further ushered by Momoko.

He saw Sana run out of a room, what seemed to be a pile of fabric in her arms, and she disappeared into another room further down the corridor, sliding the door closed with her foot behind her. Mingyu was led into the room Sana had left, and found it to be seemingly only Chiyo who stayed there. It was tiny, and Mingyu could barely stand upright, lowering Chiyo to the sleeping mat and finding himself unable to rise all the way. The room held nothing but the sleeping mat, a dresser, a flickering lantern, and what Mingyu guessed was a box in the corner, but a robe lay draped across it.

As soon as Mingyu placed her down he was ushered out again, Momoko almost pushing him down the corridor, her breathing sounding quick to Mingyu’s ears. The superior stood to meet Mingyu in the tearoom that was empty of patrons except for Oshiro, and Mingyu stood slightly awkwardly as she and the girls that flanked her bowed repeatedly, apologising over and over. 

Neither Oshiro nor Mingyu spoke as they left, but the way the other man looked at Mingyu had him feeling vulnerable.

 

The next night Mingyu didn't make any move to leave his boarding house. He planned to go back to see Chiyo the next day, and fully expected to be told she had died through the night. As often happened he was unable to sleep, and was therefore able to prevent Oshiro from waking the neighbours as he called up from the street. 

Mingyu stuck his head out of the window, the humidity of the air hitting him with a thud. He looked down to see Oshiro looking up at him. He didn't say anything, only made large hand gesetures, and Mingyu wordlessly retracted his head, dressing quickly, trying to keep his footsteps quiet as he locked his door, sneaking down and out of the boarding house. Unlike in the past, this was a higher class place to stay, a place where his comings and goings at midnight would surely be questioned the next day.

Neither of them spoke as they walked away from the boarding house, and within minutes Mingyu was certain of where they were headed. The streets were quiet, the occasional burst of drunken laughter heard, the shuffling of people quickly passing by, and the murmur of the soldiers that patrolled the streets as they passed, barely sparing the two men a glance.

“Chise said she was asking for you,” was what Oshiro finally said and Mingyu didn't reply, but a thousand thoughts pushed through his head as they continued their walk. Rather than turn down the street that would take them to the conventional entrance, Oshiro continued walking, turning suddenly down a hidden side alley and gesturing for Mingyu to follow him.

They ended up at a small door, and Oshiro knocked a few times, the door opening slightly before being flung open, Chise stumbling forward and Oshiro reaching a hand out to steady her. She blushed, and it was at that Mingyu realised her face was completely bare, her hair piled up on top of her head, some strands fallen loose around her face which looked to be tracked with tears as the light hit her.

“I didn't think you would come,” Chise said, turning her head away from them both. 

“Why wouldn't we, Chise-chan?” Oshiro said, voice still teasing but hand still on her arm, and Mingyu looked away from them both, feeling intrusive. 

She didn’t reply, turning and beckoning them both, Mingyu pulling the door closed behind them. He knew he ought to be paying attention to where they were being led, but Chise walked so quickly that Mingyu focused all his energy on keeping up, and trying to stay quiet.

He began to recognise his surroundings, and it was no surprise as the three of them stopped before Chiyo’s door. Chise whispered something to Oshiro, ducking inside and closing the door behind her, and almost instantly the door opened again, another young girl coming out of the room, her head low as she padded down the corridor.

The two men entered, the room impossibly crowded, the air stifling despite the small window flung open, muggy air leaking inside. It was dark, only vague moonlight spilling in. Mingyu’s eyes adjusted and he could see the shape of Chiyo, lying flat in the bed, hair fanned out around her like others before her had been, breathing laboured. 

Mingyu knelt down beside her, trying not to show how awkward he felt. Was he expected to speak to her? To seem grieved, to cry? All when he had caused this, when her state was his fault and he was to act as though it pained him in a way that was far more obvious than the constantly embedded knife that he dealt with already.

He could hear Oshiro inhale sharply but Mingyu didn't look up, hearing their hushed conversations in the corner, turned with their backs to Mingyu.

Now he was so close, he was able to look at Chiyo. Her face was bare, hair loose and plastered to her face with sweat, lips white and eyes glassy. He almost felt the urge to vomit as he looked at her. With all of Chiyo’s makeup he’d not been able to see much of him in her, but now it was frightening. It was the most similar of them all; the shape of the nose, slant of the eyes, the angle of the cheekbones. Mingyu closed his eyes as he sat, trying to reign back his reeling mind and focus. 

There was a cup of water next to her. She twitched her fingers towards it and Mingyu picked it up, hands shaking as he poured a final dose into the cup, knowing no one was watching, lifting it to her lips as she tried to swallow.

Chiyo opened her mouth as though to speak but choked, coughing violently, taking a few minutes for her to stop. 

“I prayed,” she said, almost silently, cracked lips barely moving as she spoke. “for a girl.”

Mingyu’s blood ran like ice.

“Akira. Please-“

Chiyo was cut off by another bout of coughing, and Mingyu glanced over to Chise, knowing he looked desperate.

“She wants-” Mingyu said, voice catching. “she’s asking for Akira.”

Even in the dull light Mingyu could see Chise pale. Oshiro stepped aside as she turned, crouching slightly, and as she turned again to face them Mingyu made out the unmistakable shape of a crib, and a baby in her arms.

She stepped towards them, hesitating slightly at passing the baby to Chiyo, who could barely lift her eyes let alone her arms to hold the child. Mingyu outstretched his arms instead, taking the baby without thinking, only realising what he’d just done until he was holding him.

He heard Chise and Oshiro returning to their hushed conversation but he put all his focus on looking down at the baby in his arms. He was no older than two months, and remained sleeping as Mingyu held him. Absentmindedly Mingyu began to smooth down the fluffed up hair, soft against his fingers.

Chiyo’s fingers lifted slightly and Mingyu shifted closer to her, lifting her hand to place it on the boy’s head.

“How?” Mingyu found himself asking, muttering to himself.

“She hadn't turned eighteen yet,” Chise said softly, and Mingyu turned slightly, not having expected an answer. “it wouldn't have mattered in our field of work, but he was a General. He died before she could tell him, before he could claim the child. If she was a girl we could keep her on and train her, but…”

“What will become of him?” Mingyu asked, and even to his own ears his voice was flat. “She won’t last the night.”

“She was going to send him to live with relatives in the countryside,” came the reply, and her voice was shaking as she spoke. “but she can’t tell us where they are now. They say they’ll leave him at the temple-“

At this Chise’s voice broke, and Mingyu turned to see her begin to cry. Oshiro stood there, slightly aimlessly, but Mingyu furrowed his eyebrows at him, prompting Oshiro to place a hand on the young girl’s shoulder, a feeble gesture of comfort. At this Chise turned and buried her face in Oshiro’s chest, and at another time Mingyu would've laughed at the expression that passed over Oshiro’s face.

Mingyu turned back to Chiyo. Her eyes were now closed, and her hand fell limp off of where Mingyu had placed it on Akira’s head. Her breathing was slow and painful to hear, and Mingyu took her hand to place it back against her son, but he found himself holding it himself. The illness shown on her face was so foreign to familiar features, and Mingyu could hear the blood running through his eardrums as he watched her.

“One of the kitchen girls said she would take him down to the temple tomorrow. I don’t know if she plans to just leave him on the steps-“

“I will take the child.”

Mingyu spoke before he even realised his mouth had been moving. At this the room was completely silent, aside from the aching breaths from Chiyo. As Mingyu thought about what he just said, his mind became clear.

“I will take him.” Mingyu repeated, firm now. Chiyo’s hand felt like ice in his own. “I’ve been planning to leave the country within the week. I can take him with me. I’ve been in Japan long enough to pass him as my own.”

Chise was looking at him, slightly open mouthed, as too was Oshiro. Mingyu managed a shaky smile at them both, before turning back to Chiyo.

“I will take Akira,” he said, his words directed at Chiyo. “he will want for nothing. I promise you, I will take care of your son.”

At this the grip in Mingyu’s hand tightened, so hard it was almost painful, his fingers crushed in between Chiyo’s, before they grew slack again, falling from his hand. After a few more agonising minutes, Chiyo gasped in a final breath, and died. 

Chise let out a sob, turning and running from the room, Oshiro making to go after her but stopping himself.

Mingyu only stayed by her side for a minute, taking in her appearance and drawing a shaky breath, before looking down and focusing on the boy. Akira.

He stood, the baby close to his chest, turning to face Oshiro.

“Are you really leaving?” Oshiro finally said, brows furrowed.

“I’d meant to tell you, but these past few days were so chaotic.” Mingyu said, guilt creeping up his neck. “And what of you?”

“Chise will be eighteen in just over a year,” Oshiro said, his voice strained as he lowered his gaze, embarrassed. “It’s all dependent on…the logistics, of how things end up.”

“I have faith in you,” Mingyu said, managing his voice to sound warm despite how distracted he felt.

“And I in you,” Oshiro said, smiling slightly. “Do you have the slightest idea of how to care for a child?”

“You would be surprised,” Mingyu said, looking down at the boy who had remained asleep throughout the entire ordeal.

“But your life will change so much,” Oshiro said, worry lacing his words. “now that it is focused around caring for someone else."

“My dear friend,” Mingyu said, meeting Oshiro’s eyes and trying not to betray any of the sadness he felt as he spoke. “That is all my life has ever been.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now would be a good time to mention that all of the names mean something lolol. (except for the shameless twice inserts in this chapter) 
> 
> for the names of the members i followed this thing http://starlighttaekwoon.tumblr.com/post/144440950225/seventeens-names-meaning but with wonwoo even if they don't directly link to his name, they have a relevance ;)) u can look it up n figure it out now if u want but i'll probably list who was who at the end. soz for being extra
> 
> edit// i'll jsut say now?? oshiro was seokmin n chise was soonyoung, and baby akira is my own baby lee chan


	9. chapter nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was supposed to be up for mingyus birthday but i deadass just forgot im sorry

Snow had begun to twist itself down into the streets as Wonwoo sat across from Jun. They weren't in their usual coffee shop, this one further from their apartment block but significantly cleaner, the windows clear as Wonwoo watched the snow curl over and over itself in the air. There was a buzz of conversation in the cafe, but the weather was stopping most people from bothering to waste any more time outside than was required. 

Jun had already been here when Wonwoo arrived, sitting and looking around him without paying much attention, at a table against the window, looking up and grinning as Wonwoo approached. Jun gestured for Wonwoo to sit next to him, in the seat closer to the window. Wonwoo had done odder things for Jun to not question it, but the pot of tea in the centre of the table with three cups laid out did cause a sense of unease to rise in Wonwoo.

Idle conversation was made, Wonwoo mainly watching people walking down the street, heads low and pace quick, Wonwoo only able to appreciate the beauty of the slow moving snow due to the fact he was now warm and dry. 

As he continued to watch and Jun continued his chatter, Wonwoo felt a great surge rising from the pits of stomach. He made an effort to not react, still staring out the window. Moments after this feeling began a familiar figure passed Wonwoo’s line of view, but rather than pushing onwards through the snow, turned into the doorway of the cafe.

Wonwoo watched as Mingyu stomped the snow off his boots, pulling his hood down and running a hand through his disheveled hair. Wonwoo was so preoccupied he barely registered as Jun shifted his hand ever so slightly to the left, two fingers pushing down into Wonwoo’s right arm, into his wrist, Jun counting to ten under his breath. 

As Mingyu sat himself down across from them both he seemed to bore holes into Jun, daring him to make eye contact with him, but Jun was busy muttering under his breath, before sighing and glancing over at Wonwoo, who hadn't moved since seeing Mingyu come into the cafe. Wonwoo and Mingyu sporadically glanced at one another, breathing heavy as they waited for Jun to finish whatever he was doing and decrease the loaded tension at the table.

 

“Well,” Jun finally said, leaning back in his chair and looking at them both. “isn't this nice? Just like old times.”

A beat passed and Wonwoo swore he could hear the thud of Mingyu’s heartbeat across the table.

“Whatever do you mean, Junhui?” Mingyu said, smile bright, but Wonwoo saw Jun wince out of the corner of his eye, and heard the dull noise of Mingyu’s shoe connecting with Jun’s shin.

“I mean I rarely see you out of the house Mingyu,” Jun said, forcing a smile. “so I thought I’d help you make some friends, and darling Wonwoo here can ease you into it, given that he doesn't talk much. He’s the easiest out of the lot of them.”

Mingyu’s eye twitched and he sighed, sagging back in his seat as Jun leant over to pour him some tea. He shrugged his coat off, revealing a t-shirt that seemed far too thin for the weather. Wonwoo could make out the edges of tattoos standing out on golden skin, and swiftly dropped his eyes back to his teacup.

Jun forced the conversation for a little while longer, before calling over a waitress and ordering another full pot of tea. She had barely set it on the table before Jun pulled out his phone, gasping and jumping to his feet.

“Would you look at the time!” Jun cried, pulling on his coat and wiggling his eyebrows at Mingyu. “I just remembered I have a very important thing to do immediately, and I’ve only just ordered this pot of tea. The two of you ought to stay here and finish that off. Be nice to each other!”

And with that Jun semi-ran out of the cafe, dashing off through the snow and leaving Wonwoo and Mingyu facing one another, Wonwoo now hyperaware of how their feet knocked together under the table, how barely any distance was between them, and how Mingyu wouldn't meet his eyes. His stomach was rolling over and over, and as always, Wonwoo was convincing himself it was nausea.

 

Wonwoo cleared his throat, lifting his tea and drinking it with shaky hands, the clinking noise as he set it back down seeming jarring in the bubble of silence that had formed between them despite their surroundings. 

“What’re you studying?” Mingyu asked, sudden it seemed to Wonwoo, and it took him a moment to form an answer.

“Korean history,” Wonwoo managed out, missing the slight puff of laughter from Mingyu. “It’s my fourth degree.”

“And the last three?” Mingyu said, resting his head on his hand, elbow braced on the table.

“Philosophy in Hong Kong with a year in Moscow, classical Japanese in Singapore with a year in Tokyo, and military history at St Andrews with a year in Prague.”

Mingyu let out a definite burst of laughter, startling both Wonwoo and those at the tables surrounding them.

“What’s so funny?” Wonwoo asked, trying to seem annoyed but his lip twitching upwards involuntarily.

“Nothing,” Mingyu said, attempting to compose himself. “It’s just very fitting.”

At this Wonwoo let a frown show on his face, Mingyu’s face growing stoic as he again realised the implications of what he said. Wonwoo was beginning to think that despite his threatening and calculating disposition, Mingyu very rarely thought about what he was saying.

“And you?” Wonwoo asked in an effort to distract Mingyu. “What are you studying?”

“Russian language and literature.” Mingyu said, his face gaining a bit of expression at the raise of Wonwoo’s eyebrows.

“And is it worth me asking what you have studied in the past, or will we be here all night?”

Mingyu at least had the decency to flush, looking down into his tea and preoccupying himself with stirring it, watching the steam rise from the thin cup.

“I’m not an idiot Mingyu.”

 

And Wonwoo wasn’t. His final essays for this term had all been submitted, and aside from the odd research module to finish, Wonwoo found himself with little to do whilst all his friends prepped for final exams or dissertations. For want of anything else, and for the burning curiosity in his stomach, Wonwoo had submerged himself in the library, reading books no one had read for decades, conducting his own research.

He’d read accounts on soulmates from every corner of the globe, from civilisations and countries that no longer existed, on the mythology and the folklore, and on the science and the law. He’d found himself in the bones of libraries, reading books he was sure he wasn't legally allowed to access, and this had almost confirmed the theory Wonwoo had been composing for months now. 

A theory that Mingyu was hundreds of years old. And he’d achieved this by prematurely ending his soulmate’s life, stopping his own ageing process, and seemingly repeating this for tens, hundreds of years. And Mingyu was his soulmate. The missing piece was _why_.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mingyu asked, staring Wonwoo straight in the face, but the quiver in his lip betrayed him as anxious. The very fact that Wonwoo could pick up on the action, and identify it to the way Mingyu was feeling only further told Wonwoo that he had met Mingyu before, met him and come to know him well, more than once.

“At least do me the courtesy of owning up to it,” Wonwoo said, more bite in his voice than he intended. He’d been surprised at himself, for not being afraid, expecting to fear for his life in Mingyu’s presence given what Wonwoo had learnt, but it’d only piqued a sick curiosity within him.

“Forgive me for being put out,” Mingyu said, a smile more like a grimace on his face. “but I’ve never made it this far before. Never had to explain myself.”

“First time for everything,” Wonwoo said, pouring out more tea. “If you’re going to kill me, be decent enough to explain it to me first.”

Mingyu sat back in his seat, his mouth opening and then closing, tugging the sleeves of his t-shirt down over his hands and looking up at the ceiling. Despite his still relatively normal demeanour, Wonwoo could feel panic coming off of Mingyu in waves, his own heart rate seemingly picking up in response.

“We can start with the basics can’t we?” Wonwoo asked, trying to keep sarcasm out of his tone. He was praying his voice wouldn't shake as he spoke to Mingyu, his heart palpitating in every inch of skin, but he was slightly proud of himself for keeping so steady. “Mingyu’s your real name isn't it?”

“Yes,” Mingyu said, huffing out a laugh, lowering his eyes to look at Wonwoo again. “and I’m actually Korean, before you ask.”

“I wasn't going to, but good to know,” Wonwoo said, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he drank his tea. “And have you always had the tattoos?”

Mingyu tensed, placing his cup back down with slightly more force than necessary. 

“No,” he said, voice stiff and face rigid. 

“Oh,” Wonwoo said, curiosity heightened, as well as something like anxiety flowing in the front of his chest. “What’s this one?” Wonwoo asked, leaning over and pushing his finger underneath the fabric of Mingyu’s sleeve, the edge of his index finger brushing a curve of ink that edged towards Mingyu’s wrist. He ignored the way Mingyu flinched slightly, and the burn at the tips of his fingertips as he made contact with the skin.

“A quote,” Mingyu said, a trace of embarrassment in his voice, obviously flustered. “from Wuthering Heights.”

“Brontë? Really?” Wonwoo asked, never having guessed Mingyu would have a taste for the classics, although now he thought about it, he doubted they could be called classics, in comparison to Mingyu. “I didn't like it. Got halfway through and gave up.”

“Halfway?” Mingyu said, voice raising from the quiet tone they’d been speaking in, all trepidation lost. “How could you? It’s one of the most iconic novels of all time!”

“I hated it,” Wonwoo said, grinning slightly with an odd feeling of guilt pooling within him, but the joy of seeing Mingyu annoyed outweighed it. “it’s so mopey and angsty, Heathcliff’s infuriating, and Cathy made me ill.”

“You make me ill,” Mingyu said, childish, raising a hand and resting it against his heart in shock, earning a bark of laughter from Wonwoo. The movement drew attention to the tattoo that Wonwoo could see peeking out from the shirt Mingyu wore. Wonwoo was unsure whether to ask after it, at the risk of ruining the fringes of a comfortable mood they’d been beginning to carve out. 

 

But Wonwoo wasn't here for comfort. He was here for answers, never mind the warm feeling in his throat.

“And that one?” Wonwoo asked, gesturing across the table. Mingyu glanced down to check the tattoo, and the action was so idiotic Wonwoo almost laughed. Immediately Mingyu hardened again, but he seemed more awkward than defensive.

“This one?” he asked, still looking down at it as he raised a finger to trace the outline of it. Mingyu pulled the fabric of his shirt down to show the rest of it to Wonwoo, not realising the implications even after Wonwoo felt himself heating.

Mingyu’s skin was golden, the dark ink standing out in contrast as it stretched over his collarbone, covering his pectoral and etching towards his shoulder. It took a moment but Wonwoo registered the shape of a compass, the needle replaced by a star and the numbers around the outside by smaller ones, and what Wonwoo knew was Kanji running along the inside the curve that connected the points of the star.

“It’s pretty,” Wonwoo found himself saying, the words out of his mouth without thought. The part of his brain that made him speak was the same part that was telling Wonwoo to reach out, to run his fingers along the thin lines, but Wonwoo managed to control that particular urge. “the Kanji, it’s a name isn't it?”

Mingyu nodded, taking in a shaky breath and gripping the edges of the table.

“Akira,” he said, attempting to keep his voice steady, a smile hinted in his eyes as he said the name. He raised his head, meeting Wonwoo’s eyes. “My son.”

“Son,” Wonwoo found himself repeating. His brain didn't seem to be in contact with his mouth, having gone blank at what Mingyu had just said. Wonwoo felt as though water had just replaced everything inside his body, and he knew Mingyu must’ve picked up on it. “Your son.”

“Not my son, exactly.” Mingyu said, dropping his eyes to the side, hand raising to touch the tattoo again. “Your son.”

“ _My_ son?” And at this Wonwoo solidified again, everything coming back into focus as he stared at Mingyu, hands coming down on the table as he leant forward. “I had a son?”

Mingyu nodded and Wonwoo found himself blinking rapidly.

“You killed me and I had a son?”

“I didn't know!” Mingyu said, voice raising, the sudden change in volume causing Wonwoo to startle, as well as other customers around them. “I didn't know,” he repeated, softer this time, eyes on Wonwoo’s face, pleading not only with who was sat in front of him.

“How could you not have known?” Wonwoo asked, still incredulous, trying to process what Mingyu was implying.

“You were having to give him away anyway,” Mingyu said, traces of desperation in his voice. “but you died before you could send him to your family. So I took him, I raised him.”

“You? Raising a child?” Wonwoo found himself asking, the shock causing him to miss the flash of pain across Mingyu’s expression. 

Mingyu nodded and they were both silent for a moment, Mingyu drinking his tea and the hum of the cafe coming back into focus from where Wonwoo had forgotten their surroundings. He glanced out of the window to see it was still snowing.

“He wanted the stars,” Mingyu said, Wonwoo turning his head to look back on him. “because the Kanji means bright. The compass was just part of the design.”

“Was he happy?” Wonwoo said, trying not to think about the desire within him to know about the wellbeing of this boy, trying to convince himself that the picture he had of a baby boy was of pure imagination, that the countless images of Mingyu holding children were part of his overactive imagination and that they weren't real.

“I would say so,” Mingyu replied, lowering his eyes. “he had the best of everything. Clothes, food, toys, education. He was studying in England when he met his soulmate.”

“That’s nice,” Wonwoo said, aware of how emotionless he sounded, taking in the bright eyes of Mingyu and his shaky breathing. “And did you tell him about how he came to be in your care? How you killed his mother? Killed me?”

“I told him the truth,” Mingyu said, leaning further forward and hands twitching as though he fought the desire to take Wonwoo’s in his own. “that you were my soulmate. I didn't tell him that his father probably raped his mother because it was part of her job, that he died and left her alone, and that since he was born a boy he was going to be sent to a monastery where he’d have lived a lonely and painful life. I told him I wasn't his father but his mother was my soulmate, and that in my mind he was my son.”

“That was very presumptuous of you,” Wonwoo found himself saying, not even aware of it as a thousand feelings erupted inside of him. He found himself unable to meet Mingyu’s eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he heard Mingyu say, and he didn't need to look to be able to hear the desperation. Wonwoo could almost see Mingyu’s expression, and he knew if he looked up an entirely new horde of emotions would be let loose.

“I need to think. About things. At least give me that, before you do anything.” Wonwoo said, standing and pulling on his coat.

“Before I do what?” Mingyu asked, and Wonwoo forced himself to look at Mingyu, and gave him his best attempt at a withering glare.

“Before you kill me again.”

And at that Wonwoo left, pushing through the contorting snow but glancing at Mingyu through the window and seeing him with his head in his hands. Wonwoo didn't stop to examine further, beginning the trek back to his apartment and telling himself that his eyes were streaming because of the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i keep saying updates will slow cause my exams start in a less than a month but i've still not started studying so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ thanks for reading
> 
> mingyus chest tattoo looks something like these https://goo.gl/images/jIZFaM  
> https://goo.gl/images/5eVfRd  
> https://goo.gl/images/gk32lS
> 
> the quote however will get more info at a later date ;)


	10. chapter ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a belter, seatbelts on kiddos

_Singapore, Straits settlement, British Empire, 1896_

 

Running into Junhui had become such a regular occurrence to Mingyu that over the years it had come to feel like a meeting between old friends. The first was when Mingyu had been achingly young, Jun too, compared to now at least. Jun had still been hopeful, and it didn't take much for him to open up to Mingyu about his life’s purpose. Mingyu had sat and listened as Jun poured out his heart, telling stories of the years that had passed in search of his soulmate. Mingyu had given him an altered story of his own plight, and through that was able to gain information leading to what was the beginning of Mingyu’s tumultuous relationship with the underground business of soulmate tracking.

It was only after Mingyu had met with Jun for a fourth time, in a seedy public house in Vienna that Jun suspected Mingyu was using Jun’s contacts for an intent other than reuniting with his soulmate. Mingyu had expected to be met with anger. After all, Jun had spent hundreds of years looking for his soulmate after an event very similar to the one that had begun Mingyu on this way of life, and here Mingyu was, putting off being reunited with his soulmate for no apparent reason. Jun had every reason to be envious, confused, angered at Mingyu’s selfishness, and to want nothing more to do with Mingyu.

But Mingyu supposed Jun was able to see something deeper, which was more than Mingyu could say for himself at the time. Jun could see the insecurities, the fears and doubts, and the large weight on Mingyu’s shoulders that only seemed to increase with every year that passed. Jun was impossibly perceptive, understanding things years before the person themselves did. Mingyu now knew it came from living too long.

So when Jun wrote to Mingyu, imploring Mingyu to come visit him in Singapore, it had felt like the right thing to do. And as the months passed between Jun’s letter and Mingyu’s planned departure date, a feeling settled in the pits of Mingyu’s insides that had Mingyu again wondering if this was what was called fate.

 

Akira’s holidays had begun in May and ended at the beginning of September, so to save him from travelling so far, Mingyu had met him in Prague, where Mingyu had friends from previous visits, (though he didn't disclose the nature of these visits to Akira). Despite the fact that they had appeared the same age for a number of years now, and passed as brothers to anyone who asked, Mingyu still felt a pride only described as paternal when Akira talked on and on about his coursework and his studies, and how his face glowed as he talked of his friends. There was a movement about him that Mingyu had placed immediately, a flush in his cheeks that wasn't there when he had seen him at Christmas. Obviously Akira hadn't yet felt it himself, so Mingyu had only smiled as Akira spoke, imparting some fatherly wisdom here and there and wishing him well.

And from Prague Mingyu had set off for Singapore, arriving in early October, met with monsoons and Junhui’s open arms. He’d been ushered to Junhui’s home, deposited into a guest room, and allowed a day and a half to recuperate. After that, Jun had declared he was be unable to bear it, and had no choice but to take Mingyu to parties every night and show him off to the social scene.

 

It had been a wonderful change of pace for Mingyu, and he was still riding the high of waking up at four in the afternoon and being drunk from the night before when Jun had taken him to a ‘gathering’ held at the home of British dignitary.

It had begun no different than the rest. Warm light, potted palms, and meagre food served on trays by blank faced waiters. Clusters of wealthy people that had had no place in their own country of origin, gossiping and greeting Jun with breathy smiles and exclamations of delight, this then extended to Mingyu. But no sooner after Jun had turned his back on them, he was whispering feverishly in Mingyu’s ear, giddy on whatever particular rumour he’d heard about the very people he had just spoken with. Mingyu was no longer reluctant in the happiness he had found here.

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jun’s grin widen. He immediately grabbed Mingyu’s arm, pulling him towards a table partly hidden behind a large fern. Two men were smoking and talking furtively, and Jun payed them no attention as he waved exaggeratedly at a bored looking girl sitting with her head in her hand. She immediately brightened, standing as Jun came over but rolling her eyes as both Mingyu and Jun bowed slightly, throwing her arms around Jun’s neck and kissing him lightly on the cheek.

“Jun my love, I was beginning to think you were going to leave me here all on my own,” she said, berating him but grinning as she spoke. “I now see you simply abandoned me for more pleasant company.”

“Lady Grey I could never do such a thing,” Junhui replied, hand resting on his heart as he feigned horror. “but if I did I surely would've ensured you had an interesting enough diversion that you wouldn't realise until I was long gone.”

“A cunning plan,” she teased, her eyes turning to rest on Mingyu. “but are you not going to introduce me to your very handsome companion?”

“Forgive me, the delight I feel at seeing you again has caused a complete loss of decorum,” Jun said, biting back laughter and turning to stand between them both. “this is Mingyu Kim, an old friend who has finally graced me with a visit after many, _many_ years. Mingyu, this is Lady Victoria Grey, daughter of Lord Grey, who is the Earl of some place that I do not care to remember.”

“A pleasure I’m sure,” Lady Grey replied, extending a hand to which Mingyu took, raising it to his lips and meeting her eyes, already feeling himself smiling. “and despite Junhui’s insistence, Victoria will do. I can already tell we’re going to be good friends you and I, so there’s no point in delaying it.”

“It would be an honour, Victoria,” Mingyu said, enjoying the raise of Jun’s eyebrows. “would it be forward of me to ask if you’re any relation to Lord Frederick Grey, studying at St John’s?”

“Not at all, and yes I am,” she replied, expression matching Junhui’s. “Freddie is my eldest brother’s son. Are you acquainted?”

“Distantly,” Mingyu replied. “a relation studies alongside him, and speaks of him often. I must write to him immediately, to tell him of our meeting.”

“Isn’t this lovely?” Jun said, interrupting whatever reply Victoria was going to make, sitting down at the table and immediately reclining backwards, inviting them both to sit down. “Victoria my dear, don’t tell me you’ve simply been wasting away at this table, out of sight at a party held in your very own home?”

“I couldn't stomach the thought of making conversation about my father with every single one of these guests,” she said, sniffing and looking slightly disgusted. “and up until now I have been sufficiently out of view. I set Kitty loose to make her greetings with everyone, she’ll return thoroughly energised and coax me up to make conversation with who she thinks I'll find tolerable. Although now you’ve arrived our plans will surely be changed.”

Mingyu quirked an eyebrow at Jun, asking for information on this Kitty, but no sooner had Jun noticed than his eyes brightened as he looked over Mingyu’s head and stood, Victoria turning to look in the same direction.

“Speak of the devil and she shall appear,” Victoria said, Mingyu turning his head to see a young girl in the pinkest dress Mingyu had ever seen barreling towards Jun, kissing both of his cheeks and immediately pulling back, facing Mingyu with flushed cheeks. 

“Mingyu it is my absolute honour to introduce the Princess Yekaterina Alexandrovna Antonova.” Jun said, bowing as he spoke, said Princess giggling and curtsying slightly, before settling herself down into the seat beside Victoria, fabric spilling off the sides. 

“Katya will do just fine, thank you Junhui,” she said, her voice slightly accented as she beamed at Mingyu. Shining pink ribbons were settled in blonde hair, and without so much a change in expression Victoria leant over and began to rearrange them.

“I have to say that you two are the most interesting thing that’ve happened to me all evening,” Victoria said, Katya’s indignant squeak doing nothing to dampen the smile on the other girl’s face. “Kitty’s getting rather excited at all of the new people to make friends with.”

“Only because you never let me have any fun Vika,” Katya replied, lower lip jutting out. “And this place is so fascinating. So many people from so many different places, it’s wonderful don’t you think?"

“It is,” Mingyu replied after realising the question was directed at him. “I’ve barely been here a fortnight and already I’m enamoured with the place.”

“I didn't realise you were such a newcomer to our lovely city Mr Kim,” Victoria said, glancing up at the clouds of smoke above their heads in distaste. “and Junhui’s already taken you out to half of the most desirable events of the season. Are you not still exhausted from your journey?”

“A little, yes,” Mingyu admitted, inclining his head. “but Jun has scarcely given me any time to become aware of it.”

“Oh but that is exactly the way to do it!” Katya exclaimed, leaning forward and waving her hands as she spoke. “As soon as we arrived I forced myself out every night until I felt perfectly well.”

“Not all of us have such unbridled energy as you Katerina,” Jun said, rolling his eyes. Mingyu saw Katya smile sheepishly, and raked his eyes over her. If it wasn't evident from her hair that hung down without restraint, it was from the flush in her neck and glow in her cheeks. She was not yet eighteen. “but you’ve reminded me, how is your sister? Still not recovered from the journey?”

“From the journey yes,” Katya said, smile now lost from her eyes but not her mouth. “from everything else, no. It’s dismal at home, frightful medics scurrying all over the place. I just wish they’d leave her alone. Give her some peace at least.”

Jun nodded, the mood now in lower spirits and Mingyu unsure of what to say. Something began to squirm in his stomach at the mention of Katya’s sister which he was tempted to explore more.

“I’m sure Asya will make a full recovery,” Victoria said, and immediately Katya brightened, as though the other girl’s words were absolute truth. “Kitty dearest, I’m sure I just saw a nephew of the Viceroy over by the door to the balcony. Go and introduce yourself, before he gets caught up with some old biddy.”

Katya stood, somewhat reluctantly, making vague comments of farewell to them all before fluttering off towards the balcony, Victoria watching as she left.

“Is Stasya truly well or are you just trying to make Katerina feel better?” Jun asked and Mingyu felt himself flinch at his bluntness.

“Our darling Anastasia will not likely make it to Christmas,” she said with a sigh, expression soft. “she was already so frail when they left Petersburg, by the time they arrived here she couldn't stay upright for more than a minute. She’s stronger now but that’s just the exhaustion wearing off and the illness setting in.”

“Why would they travel, if she was so unwell?” Mingyu found himself asking.

“Despite his good intentions, their brute of a father wouldn't trust her with anyone else. He was adamant her lack of a soulmate would cure her of all ailments, but it stops one from ageing not from death in its entirety.” Victoria spat, hiding rage in her words. “He may as well have killed her.”

“Now now,” Jun said, reaching forward and taking Victoria’s hand. “there’s no need to get so upset. She may well make a full recovery, and even if she doesn’t, we must remain in the belief of it for her sister’s sake.”

“Yes, that we must.” Victoria said, standing and smoothing her dress down with her hand. “I can see my Aunt is about to call me over to introduce me to a distant relation of the governor. Please excuse me.”

She trudged off, her slumped shoulders immediately straightening as she grew further away from them, completely transformed as Mingyu saw her place her hand on the upper arm of a man twice her age, laughing gently as he spoke, eyes never straying from his.

“You seem very fond of her,” Mingyu said, his words laced with intent as he gauged Jun’s reaction.

“She is a sweet girl but far too righteous for her own good,” Jun replied, shaking his head in the way of an exasperated governess.

“And neither of those girls are your soulmate?” Mingyu said, feeling laughter in himself as Jun spluttered.

“No, not at all,” Jun replied eventually. “in fact I am a firm believer that Katya will not stop ageing, having already met her soulmate.”

“It’s such a dreadful affair isn't it?” Mingyu found himself saying, pulling out a cigar and searching for a lighter in his pocket. “This soulmate business.”

“It isn't Mingyu,” Jun said, pulling out his own lighter and handing to Mingyu. “it really isn’t."

 

Not even a week later did Victoria send a message to Jun’s home inviting them both to dinner the following evening. It wasn't to be a large affair, and Mingyu would admit that it was a welcome relief after what Junhui had been subjecting him to. In fact, Mingyu found it to be only themselves as well as a select few there that evening. He tried not to feel anything other than gratitude to the dinner invite, but the knowledge that a friendship was starting somewhere which he would soon mar with a murder was not wholly pleasant.

The following evening Mingyu found himself sat between Jun and a German man that didn't introduce himself but who Victoria called Aldrich. Conversation was light but diverting, with a disruption in the form of Katya appearing near the end of the meal, apologetic but flustered, resolutely avoiding making eye contact with Victoria.

As was custom the ladies made to leave early, leaving the men to drink more in the dining room, but Victoria stood in the doorway with her hands on her hips, eyes firm.

“I’m sure Mingyu has had quite enough to drink, and I’ve been longing to speak with Junhui all evening. Aldrich, surely you can handle being in our company for an entire evening can you not?”

Aldrich spluttered and finally turned it into a chuckle, conceding that yes, yes he could, and the men followed the women into the drawing room. 

Immediately Mingyu was pulled into a game of cards in the corner of the room with Katya and Victoria, leaving Jun to sit with Aldrich and a stunningly pretty girl to discuss Marxist theory. Mingyu felt rather awkward, as Katerina spoke quickly and quietly to Victoria as she dealt the cards, before she stopped talking suddenly, turning to face Mingyu with a bright smile.

“Tell me, Mr Kim,” Katya said, leaning forward and pressing her palms flat against the table, eyes devious and bright. “have you ever visited my fair country?”

“Indeed I have,” Mingyu replied, slightly anxious under the scrutinising stare Victoria was giving him. “I spent many years between Moscow and Petersburg many, many years ago, aside from a short period in Odessa.”

“So you speak my language!” Katya exclaimed, in Russian this time, voice raised in surprise. “And you only share this now?”

“It has been a long time since I spoke it Princess,” Mingyu said, wary of his accent as his mouth remembered it’s way around the syllables. “I didn't think it worth mentioning, on account of my terrible grasp of grammar.”

“Not at all!” Katerina said, positively giddy with excitement. “You sound like a native. This is wonderful.”

“Sorry to intrude,” Victoria said, not looking sorry at all. “but Kitty, doesn't this make my proposition all the more prudent?”

“Of course it does Vika, because you are always right.” Katya said, reverting to English and her tone changing dramatically, turning and giving Victoria a look that would wither an oak tree. Victoria matched it but Mingyu saw her drop her eyes to her teacup. 

“Victoria thinks,” Katya said with a sigh and a roll of her eyes, “that you would be a lovely distraction for my darling invalid sister, what with your looks and charming personality, and what with her dying.”

“You would be a welcome diversion, is what Kitty is trying to say.” Victoria said, kicking Katerina under the table. “And it’s now even more of a fitting idea since you seem to be fluent in Russian. The poor girl sits at home all day, and aside from me on occasion she is alone in her own misery.”

“What am I to her,” Katya said, a slight bite in her tone. “an armchair?”

“You might as well be,” Victoria replied, eyes narrowed, “since you’re out till God knows when with God knows who doing things I don’t even want to know about, and asleep all day only to repeat the whole thing over. Excuse me for thinking she could do with more decent company.”

“Decent?” Katya spat, face flushed. “I’m her _sister_ , what I do with my time is of no consequence to my ability as a companion. Stasya has no issue with it, and neither should you. You have no right, you are of no relation to me, of no obligation to look out for my wellbeing. You only complain because you think I’m a bother to my sister.”

“I care because you’re gadding about all over town making a show of yourself with no thought to your own wellbeing. You’re so selfish Yekaterina, can you not think of Asya, of me, for once? I’m trying to do what she is unable to do, to keep you from getting caught up in a scandal and shaming your family, shaming yourself.”

“I’ve suddenly remembered I’ve got much better places to be,” Katya said, standing and refusing to look at Victoria. “Mingyu, please consider the offer. Anastasia is a dear thing, she’d be glad of _decent_ company. Now, I’ll be off with far better people doing far better things. Goodnight.”

“Yekaterina Alexandrovna stop acting like such a _child_.” Victoria called after her, and Katya paused for a moment. She turned to look at Victoria, mouth quivering slightly and eyes red at the corners. 

“And give Asya my regards,” Victoria said in a tone that would freeze over an ocean, and at that Katya turned, uncaring of the eyes on her, and ran out of the room, her shoes clicking on the marble following her out into the entrance hall, the sound of the front door being heaved open and then closed coming after, so clear in the silence that had fallen in the drawing room.

A moment passed as no one spoke, all eyes on Victoria. Mingyu could see her hands balled in her lap, clutching the fabric of her dress and her neck pulsed as she swallowed repeatedly.

“Was that really necessary Victoria?” Junhui finally said, and for a moment Victoria showed no signs of having heard him. She inhaled deeply, turning to face him and then looking back at the table.

“She is too dependent on me,” she said, gathering up the cards from the table and reshuffling them, before dealing them out once again. “I’d been meaning to do something like that for a while. She will be far too stubborn to speak to me again.”

“Oh Victoria,” a girl said from where she was reclined on a sofa, her voice tearful.

“You’ve always been so reckless, so headstrong,” Aldrich said from around his cigar. “why do you break your own heart like this?”

“Heart?” Victoria said, a bark of laughter following. “In what way is this a matter of the heart? She is young, she is having fun. She will scarcely remember this in an hour or so. Besides, what need have I? Of a heart.”

“It keeps you alive you foolish, foolish girl.” Junhui said, shaking his head. “Now Josephine, you were telling me about the research you’ve been conducting on the first missionaries to the area?”

Mingyu didn't take his eyes off of Victoria as the conversation resumed around them. The cards lay set out again on the table but neither made any move to pick them up. Mingyu turned in his chair to hide Victoria more from view, as she was now pale and shaking slightly.

“She’s your soulmate.” Mingyu said, matter-of-factly, and Victoria raised her head and smiled.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Mingyu said nothing more of it, only sat for another few minutes and watched as Victoria attempted to pick up her cards, before giving up and resting her hands on top of the pile, staring down at the seat to her left.

“Jun, my friend,” Mingyu called over his shoulder. “do you know the time?”

“Almost midnight,” Jun replied.

“Don’t you think we have intruded on Lady Grey’s hospitality quite enough? She appears quite tired but I believe she is feigning energy for the sake of her guests.”

“I quite agree,” Jun said, standing, Mingyu following. “we all ought to return to our own homes and leave dear Victoria to get some rest. She looks quite ill.”

There were murmurs of agreement and shared meaningful looks around the room. They all took their turns thanking their hostess and their hostess apologising repeatedly, Jun hugging her tight and Mingyu following after.

Mingyu moved to step back but Victoria kept her grip on his forearms.

“I meant what I said,” she said to him, voice hushed. “go see Asya. She will be glad of it, as will you.”

“Of course,” Mingyu said. “I will call on her within the week, and I’ll drop in for tea afterwards, to let you know how it went.”

“Do,” was all she said, her eyes imploring but mouth drawn in a tight line, before releasing her hands from his and standing with them clasped, pushing into her stomach. “I’ll be waiting to hear all about it.”

 

Mingyu planned to wait a few days to call on the Antonova girl, but an impromptu visit came without warning. He’d seen Katya in the entrance hall at a gala and told her the day that he planned to stop by. He wrote it down as well, making sure she slipped the paper into her coat pocket before she checked it into the cloakroom. 

It was just as well he did so, seeing as when he saw her later on in the evening she was far drunker than any lady of her position ought to be in public, and was being escorted down a corridor by a man Mingyu didn't recognise. Something vile gripped his stomach, so he called down the hallway after them, a casual greeting but enough to make them both aware of his presence. The man had turned and seen Mingyu, and his eyes widened as he dropped Katya to the floor and bolted down the hall.

Mingyu would've ran after him if not for the sorry state of Katya. He'd helped her up and sent someone in to find Jun, who’s dazed smile slipped off as he saw Katya, dress creased, hair half down, face bright red and eyes glazed over. They helped her into a cab, getting in after her, Jun directing the driver towards Katya’s home.

She passed out against the window as soon as they were settled, murmuring to herself and head banging against the glass every time the cab jostled. Mingyu intended to pull her head onto his shoulder to prevent her from getting a concussion, but they soon stopped at their destination. 

The driver idled in the street as both Mingyu and Junhui helped Katya inside. The house was large, the gardens expansive and the driveway unnecessarily long. A grand set of stairs led up to front door, which opened before Jun could raise the ornate knocker. 

An exhausted looking housekeeper opened the door, ushering them both into a cavernous entry hall as she motioned for a housemaid to fetch help to escort Katya up the imposing marble staircase. The housekeeper and Jun spoke rapidly as Mingyu helped with the transfer of Katya into the arms of two bedraggled housemaids. Mingyu almost dropped Katya as a figure appeared at the landing overlooking the hall.

“Katen’ka? Is that you?” 

Mingyu’s eyes were drawn to the top of the staircase where a girl wearing only a white nightgown stood, hair hanging down and half hidden behind the ornate bannister. Immediately Mingyu dropped his eyes down, to prevent himself appearing indecent, but he knew he was blushing furiously.

And that was all the confirmation he need to know Anastasia Alexandrovna was his soulmate.

It was a bit hazy, what happened after that. Mingyu stumbling out of the cab in front of Jun’s house, Jun paying the driver extra to keep his mouth shut, Mingyu crawling up the stairs and peeling his clothes off, laying on top of his bedsheets and staring up at the ceiling.

Jun came in long after they both should've been asleep, sitting on the edge of Mingyu’s bed and staring at Mingyu.

“It’s because of Victoria,” Jun said. “that Katya is acting like this. We ought to say something.”

“Was that the sister?” was what Mingyu said, as though he hadn't heard Jun at all.

“Yes,” Jun said after a moment of silence, and if Mingyu was more aware he would've heard the apprehensive tone of Jun’s voice. “she’s very beautiful isn't she? Even with her illness.”

Mingyu hummed in agreement, saying nothing more and waiting until Jun left to shift himself under the bedsheets, letting himself fall asleep in the full knowledge that he would be plagued by dreams in the coming weeks, until he could silence them again, for a while at least. 

 

The next day was when Jun thought it best to finally call on the Antonova girl. It was early afternoon when they set off, and Mingyu tried his best to hide his shaking hands from Junhui. He appeared not to notice, and took the steps two at a time, knocking on the large door and meeting the footman with a jovial grin.

“Junhui!” said a voice floating down into the entrance hall, and as Mingyu looked toward it he was surprised to attach it to Katya. Despite her dismal state the night before she appeared perfectly normal, aside from dark shadows in the inner corner of her eyes and a slight slump in her shoulders. “And Mr Mingyu. Come, I’ll chat with you both before you see Stasya.”

They were led into an airy drawing room and Katya immediately threw herself into an armchair, leaning her head back and closing her eyes, not opening them until a footman came in and placed a tray on the table. Immediately she leant forward, pouring a cup of coffee and knocking it back, finally making eye contact with Jun and Mingyu who had been sitting rather awkwardly on the settee. 

“You’ve come on a very good day,” she said, sitting up straight. “Asya is feeling relatively well, so she’ll be far better company. She’s with a physician right now, but she’ll be down shortly. However, due to her still weakened state, I ask you to not bring up any _sensitive_ issues.”

“Define sensitive Katya,” Jun said, voice monotone and eyebrows raised. “is this your way of telling us not to bring up your tiff with Victoria?”

“It’s not a tiff,” Katya said, a blush rising on her neck and into her face. “and yes, it is. I can’t have Asya thinking about this or trying to get involved.”

“Have you considered the possibility that she already knows? She is incredibly perceptive, rival to only me, and you are far less subtle than you think.”

“She is unaware and she will remain so,” Katerina said, but despite her best attempts she lacked faith in her own words. “and before she gets here, Mingyu, I ask that you speak in Russian to her, if only to annoy Junhui.”

“It’d be a pleasure Princess,” Mingyu replied, Jun letting out an indignant squawk. “how ought I to address her?”

“Begin with Princess Anastasia,” Katya said, mouth turning up into a smirk. “she’ll find it most amusing, and then no matter what she says refer to her as Anastasia Alexandrovna. Wait till the next visit, assuming you find our company tolerable, to call her Asya.”

“Very good,” Mingyu said, leaning back in his seat and grinning at Jun who looked thoroughly put out.

 

Not a moment later did the door open. Mingyu and Jun both stood as Anastasia entered, her hand placed in the crook of an old man’s elbow. She smiled as the two men bowed slightly, being walked over to a love seat and sitting down. As soon as she was settled the physician beckoned to Katya, who stood and followed him out of the room. For a moment when they stepped out Mingyu could make out the man’s expression. He looked grave.

“Asya,” Jun said, walking over to kneel in front of the girl, taking her hand and raising it to his lips. “it has been far too long. I’ve been wasting away for want of seeing you.”

“Junhui, I too have been wasting away, but I’m afraid it has nothing to do with a lack of your presence.” Anastasia said quietly, eyes narrowing as she smiled, jolting something in Mingyu into recognition.

Her voice surprised Mingyu, deeper and more accented than Katya’s was. He felt frozen for a moment, before the pause in her voice shifted him to moving again. He too dropped to his knee in front of her, taking her hand in his.

“You must be this Kim that Katen’ka has mentioned,” Anastasia said, looking down at Mingyu. “she has spoken of you often these past few weeks.”

“All good things I hope Princess,” Mingyu said, ignoring the thud in his chest at the way her face lit up as he spoke in Russian, ignoring the way her face seemed so familiar.

“And yet she never mentions this,” Anastasia said, collecting herself and raising her eyebrows. “it surely was less meant as a pleasant surprise and more due to the fact that she’s prone to forgetfulness.”

The two men sat back down across from the Princess, her and Jun catching up and Mingyu observing. Anastasia’s face was delicate, pale skin over prominent bones, lips distinctly red against it. Her eyes were deep-set but bright, narrowed due to a smile that seemed to have settled on her face. Her hair was variations of blonde, piled on her head in the complex styles that never failed to impress Mingyu. Despite how her sickness had evidently changed her appearance, she was still very lovely, and still had clear traces of who Mingyu had once known.

Mingyu didn't realise how withdrawn he’d become from the conversation until his two companions stood, Anastasia with the help of Junhui, and made their way over to the large windows that overlooked expansive gardens. Anastasia begun to explain the changes in the flowers since Jun had been here last, and Mingyu took the opportunity. He leant forward and emptied a vial into her teacup, slipping it back into his pocket and refilling his own cup to disguise the movement should they have noticed.

Mingyu tried to prevent a change in his breathing as they both sat down again, and as Anastasia raised her cup to her lips, holding it with both hands. An odd look passed over her face as she swallowed, and she met Mingyu’s eyes as she drank the rest of the cup, down to the last drop of liquid.

Conversation resumed between the two and Mingyu found himself able to make interjecting comments, earning a few bouts of breathy laughter from Anastasia, which pleased him more than it ought to. Katya returned after an extended amount of time, a distraught expression on her already upset face. It brightened slightly however, as she watched the interactions between the three of them.

Hours passed as idle chatter was made, the room shifting into golden light as the sun set in the garden behind them.

“I’m terribly sorry boys,” Katya eventually said. “but dear old cook wasn't expecting more than the two of us, so we are quite unable to feed you.”

“That’s perfectly alright,” Jun said, standing up. “we’ve long overstayed our welcome, we ought to have left hours ago.”

“Not at all,” Anastasia said. “you’ve been most entertaining, and I’m afraid you are now obligated to return. If you wait as long as you did to see me again Junhui I will never forgive you. You too, Mr Kim.”

“Mingyu will do Princess,” Mingyu said, also rising. “and we both will soon be back, I will make sure of it.”

“Yes, you will.” Anastasia said, eyes gleaming but a visible drop of exhaustion in her shoulders. “I’m afraid I won’t stand to wish you both farewell, but know that I’m doing so in spirit.”

After a few more pleasantries were exchanged, the two men left, amid promises of return and threats if the promise was not carried out.

They were both silent on the ride home.

 

A few weeks passed and these visits were repeated in a more or less similar fashion. Interspersed were visits to Victoria, sat with her face turned away and trying desperately to seem uninterested as Mingyu or Junhui talked about what news they received of Katya at their previous visit.

Anastasia had grown weaker and weaker, their visits being cut short more often as time went on. Mingyu had been using a weaker dosage, and he was unsure of how big a part it was playing in the deterioration of the Princess’s health. 

A few weeks after their initial meeting, the two men arrived at what had become a regular time for the two of them to visit, but they were met by Katya in the entrance hall. After their initial meeting with Anastasia, Katya was rarely present during their visits. But today she seemed to be waiting for them, dressed to go out in the evening but waiting for them to arrive. 

After their initial greetings her face took on an almost apologetic look, losing some of her carefully crafted persona.

“I’m sorry gents,” she said, looking down and tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “but Stasya seems to have taken a turn for the worse. She’s far more tired than she was, so she’s needing to put less effort into tasks, if you understand me. She’s too tired to bother to speak in English. I’ve been acting as translator all day. So I’m afraid she’ll not be very good company Junhui.”

“That’s quite alright,” Junhui said, standing up straighter. “Mingyu and Asya can make conversation and I’ll sit next to them, drinking tea and enjoying the atmosphere.”

“You’re too good to us,” Katya said, leaning up and kissing him on the cheek, Mingyu receiving one after Jun. “be good!”

And with that she dashed out the house, skirt in hand, and into a carriage that had pulled up in the short time between Mingyu and Jun’s arrival and Katya’s exit. The two men headed up the staircase, as it was now too much of a task for Asya to make it down the stairs, instead the three of them meeting in a small library just down the hall from the girl’s living quarters.

She was waiting there as they arrived, a doctor too who was packing up his things and didn't look at them as they sat down. Jun set about pouring tea as Anastasia lowered her eyes to look at them both, a small smile managing it’s way onto her face. 

“Did Katya stay long enough to fill you in?” Anastasia asked, sighing as Mingyu nodded. “Tell Jun I’m terribly apologetic. It’s just such an _effort_. Having to remember tenses and pronunciation and all that horrible stuff. You both will understand at least, being far more adept at languages than I.”

“It’s quite alright,” Mingyu said, smiling despite himself. “I’ve had many years to grow used to changing into a different mindset depending on one’s location, and even then I find myself slipping at times. There is no need to apologise.”

Anastasia only smiled in reply, taking the tea Jun passed her with shaky hands, leaning her elbow on the armchair she was sat on.

“Katya was terribly bored,” Anastasia said, sighing. “Having to translate all my aches and pains for the doctors, and their dismal diagnosis's for me. She said otherwise but I know better, as older sisters always do.”

Mingyu snorted, Anastasia’s eyebrows rising in response.

“Do you have siblings Mingyu?”

“Many.” Mingyu replied. Anastasia’s expression obviously prompted for more information, and something in Mingyu told him to humour her, despite the precarious situation and the fact he’d barely spoken of the matter for years. “I was the oldest of twelve.”

“Twelve?” Anastasia asked in vague disbelief.

“Yes. My mother worked as a housemaid and my father was in the army, so they were scarcely around. I cared for them as best I could.”

“On your own?” she asked. Something flipped over in Mingyu’s stomach but against his better judgement, he nodded.

“As you may have already deduced Princess, I’m terribly, terribly old. So few of my original siblings remain. But due to my extended lifespan, I ended up being the caretaker of my siblings, their soulmates, and then their children. And then their children’s soulmates, and those children, and so on and so forth until I’m financially supporting far more people than I know what to do with.”

“Why couldn't they support themselves?” Anastasia replied, anger on Mingyu’s behalf evident as she empathised. “Especially now they’re such distant relations. You could easily just pretend you do not exist.”

“Do you know much of my country?” Mingyu asked, and Anastasia shook her head. “There is a very regimented class system in place. Some have likened it to the caste system of India. I may be the only person in history to break out of it, only due to my lifespan and my good fortune in foreign countries. I was born into the peasant class, would you believe it. We only avoided being enslaved by sheer geography, being too rural for anyone to mind us. All of my relatives remain in such a precarious position. Without my help they surely would have nothing. I’m sure there would be a way of moving them to a different class, but there is simply too many of them.”

“And are large families very common in your society?”

“Yes, but there is usually a large extended family that also helps support everyone. I wasn't fortunate to have that help. I knew of only one other person to have such a burden.”

“Were they the oldest of their family too?” Anastasia asked, and her curiosity made bile rise in Mingyu’s throat, as he was forced to recount the information.

“No, but he was the only son out of nine, and he had no father and a mother prone to illness. And through a turn of events I ended up taking responsibility for his siblings as well.”

“Why?” she asked, and that simple question made Mingyu’s nose burn with the threat of tears that hadn't been shed for so long.

“He died,” Mingyu said, taking a deep breath before continuing. “and it was my fault. Our fault. So I promised him I would care for his family and his descendants, until they were able to support themselves. Many of his sisters and nieces went on to become courtesans, so were able to lessen my burden ever so slightly. But still I support them, and will go on to for goodness knows how many years.”

“It is very lucky then,” Anastasia said, voice drowsy. “that you have lived so long. How else would you manage to care your family, and the family of the boy you promised to protect? It’s quite romantic isn't it? Like Tolstoy.”

“Yes Princess,” Mingyu said, closing his eyes. “just like Tolstoy.”

“Could you mind out for Katen’ka too then?” Anastasia asked from the fringes of sleep. “When I die. I’d hoped she would be settled with Viktoria by now, but it seems that will not be. Help her with Viktoria, do that for me.”

“Of course Asya,” Mingyu said, the name slipping out without thinking. He steadfastly ignored the smile that pulled at the edges of Anastasia’s almost sleeping face. 

 

Only a few days passed until Mingyu and Jun were in attendance at an event with Victoria where they found Katya to also be present. Immediately Victoria seemed to be aware of Katya’s presence, digging her elbow into Jun’s gut before they’d even entered the room. Mingyu watched Katya closely as they were announced at the door, and noticed the hitch of her breath and the way her eyes moved towards them, when Victoria’s name was said. However when her eyes met Mingyu’s she quickly looked away, laughing at something her companion said and resolutely looking anywhere but at them.

The night was already halfway done and Victoria had spent a large portion of it hidden behind her tall friends. Through a few subtle glances and suggestions when Victoria wasn't looking, Mingyu and Jun came up with a plan. 

Jun slipped away to go speak to an old friend he claimed to have seen and Mingyu asked Victoria to accompany him to the cloakroom, for he was sure he’d left his lighter in his overcoat and it would be rude of him to leave her on her own, unless of course she wished to make conversation with any one of the other attendees.

So with Victoria in his company Mingyu made his way to cloakroom. He was unsure of how Jun would convince Katya to follow him, but he left that to Junhui. Mingyu scarcely had to pretend to search for his lighter when Jun slipped into the stuffed cloakroom, Katya in tow. 

Immediately Victoria tried to leave but Mingyu caught her arm, giving Jun time to position himself in front of the door to prevent any means of escape.

“We would’ve liked to give you some privacy,” Jun said through the tension. “but neither of you will get anything done. Rest assured you can talk freely in our presence, I guarantee you it’s nothing we haven't seen before.”

Neither spoke and Mingyu found himself rolling his eyes.

“You’re soulmates,” Mingyu stated, ignoring the looks thrown at him. “now there’s no use trying to evade the subject you foolish things. You turned eighteen a fortnight ago Katya but nothing has stopped, your sister has told me as much.”

Katya let out an indignant noise at the revelation of Asya’s betrayal but Jun raised a hand to stop further outcry.

“It’s for your own good that she told us,” Jun said in the way of placating a wild animal. “she asked that we do something of this manner, although she may not have intended something as direct as locking you both in the same room and refusing to let you leave.”

“Victoria, please say something,” Mingyu said. “in a way, you did start all of this.”

“I did no such thing!” Victoria said, finally speaking, and this was met with a burst of laughter from Katya, who Victoria turned to glare at. “I was perfectly valid in my point and I stand by it. And what's this nonsense about Yekaterina being my soulmate? It’s preposterous, it could be any one of us, or of that crowd she hangs about with.”

“But it is you,” Jun said, almost begging at this point. “you’ve scarcely slept for weeks, you’re skittish, look at yourself, you’re flushed. And even if none of these things are valid, I’ve been checking your pulse each time we mention Katya. It spikes every time we say her name. And tonight, it’s been far above a resting pulse for someone who hasn't yet found their soulmate. You’re ageing again, Lady Grey, and it is due to Katerina.”

Victoria opened then closed her mouth repeatedly, before turning away from the three of them and breathing shakily. She turned to face them again, her eyes lingering on Katya, before darting for the door, pushing Jun away with ease in his shock at her sudden movement, running out the room and down the hall, leaving the three of them in a vague stupor.

The two men turned to face Katya, who was staring at the door, eyes bright. None of them spoke for a moment, before the sound of laughter carried down the hallway broke their odd state.

“She doesn’t call me Kitty anymore,” Katya said, lips barely moving. Jun made to reach out towards her but she turned away towards the coatrack, rummaging through it. “I wrote her a letter, I’ve been thinking about how to get it to her. You can read it if you want, she surely won’t. Then at least you can convey the general sentiment. It’s terribly embarrassing, and were I more sober at the time of it’s creation I would surely do no such thing.”

Katya stopped, evidently having found her belongings, taking out a piece of paper that had been folded and unfolded too many times, opening and smoothing it before holding it out towards them. 

She looked as though she’d like to say something more, but she seemed to think better of it, smoothing down her dress and swiping at her cheeks in a way that seemed almost painful. She fixed her posture and a smile on her face, before gliding out of the room, the sound of her calling out to a friend echoing down the hall.

“We can bring it to her tomorrow,” Jun said, after a laden moment. “let her think things over a little first. Let her dream of Katya first. After that we can see how she feels.”

 

_Vika,_

 

_Forgive me._

 

_I struggle to breathe. Constantly. Always, being so close to you, it has me unable to cope. I used to fear I was dying, that my heart was growing weak, from these constant palpitations. I spoke to a physician and he told me I was foolish. I am a fool. It hurts, for it is indeed pain that I feel in your presence. Not always, it was not always only pain. But whatever joy was once brought to me by you I fear has been lost, ebbed away by each day I must spend without being close to you._

 

_Even when you are nowhere near me, when it has been days since I’ve seen you last, the ache of my breathing remains as though you were in the room with me, as though no matter how far you go you will never leave my sight. But what can you do? What can I? But remain in your presence, remain in agony and fear and desire, and hope that you can do something, anything, to still my heart that is driven so wild by you, only you. I feared I was dying. The fear was not of death, of losing my life, but a fear of losing you to my own passing. Of having you no longer in my sight._

 

_Allow me this. You do not care for me, and you will soon find someone who brings you the joy I have found with you. Let me remain in your presence, remain near you. This, I ask of you. All I ask. Please answer me._

 

_Yours always, преданно,_

 

_Kitty_

 

The next night Mingyu and Jun called on Victoria, to find her already waiting for them, in the drawing room with a tray of coffee set out and a cigarette in her hand.

“I didn't know you smoked Victoria,” Mingyu said as he sat down, pulling out a cigarette himself as Jun poured the coffee.

“Katerina had me quit,” Victoria said, taking a drag. “said that even though I didn't have my soulmate, it didn't give me any right to make myself ill over it.”

“Cigarettes making you ill?” Jun said. “I was under the impression that was a rather controversial opinion, one of only those with a hatred of fun and men of science.”

“She is far more intelligent than anyone gives her credit for,” Victoria said sharply, eyes narrowed and burning. “she isn't some foolish girl that values nothing except the wealth of her father and what waistline is in fashion.”

Jun made sounds of agreement and placation whilst Mingyu sorted his coffee. Mingyu could see Jun was tentatively holding the letter in his hands, and he could see that Victoria had noticed it, and was waiting for Jun to call attention to it. Mingyu coughed, waiting for Jun to meet his eyes before pointedly glancing at the letter. Jun gritted his teeth, before handing it to Victoria.

Neither of them spoke as she read it, her eyes quickly scanning over the whole thing before going back and reading the whole thing again, slower this time. When she was done she sighed deeply, folding the letter over itself and looking up at the men.

“Has she tried to contact you before this?” Jun ventured to ask, something which Mingyu had also been wondering. “It seemed as though she had.”

“Define contact,” Victoria said, resting her elbows on her knees and leaning forward to place her head in her hands. “she’s shown up here on a number of occasions, under the influence of various substances, and I’ve sent her home in our carriage. It’s nothing she didn't previously do, but only now I get a footman to accompany her, and am less pliant to her requests to stay the night.”

Jun opened his mouth to make some remark but was interrupted by the door opening. A footman came in, expression odd and slightly panicked.

“My lady, I’m sorry to disturb you when you have company, but a carriage has been sent for you from the home of the Prince Alexander Alexeyevich Antonov.”

“Were you told on what grounds?” Victoria asked, standing up.

“The driver was not exactly clear,” the footman said as both Jun and Mingyu also stood. “but I believe it is very urgent. If you do excuse me my lady, but I’m under the impression that it is to do with the health of the first Princess Alexandrovna.”

“Thank you,” Victoria said, calling after him as she left the room, Mingyu and Jun on her heels. “tell whoever needs to know that I’ll likely be back late, if at all.”

Without fetching a coat Victoria walked out the front door, down the steps and straight into the carriage, Mingyu and Jun following without a second thought.

The journey didn't take long, but each second felt drawn out twice its intended length as they grew closer. Mingyu knew this was what he wanted. This was the end, this was what he had set out to do. The goal, the aim, the destination he had set out to reach.

And yet, as the carriage pulled up and they quickly made their way up the steps and through the already open door, something that had similarities to fear began to churn in Mingyu’s stomach. They stood slightly aimless in the entrance hall until Victoria looked up, Katya having ran to stand at the top of the stairs at the same spot where her sister had stood the first night Mingyu had seen her.

 

She didn't speak but Victoria made her way up the stairs without prompt, following Katya’s retreating figure towards what must’ve been Victoria’s room, Jun and Mingyu close behind. They found themselves in a room equally as silent as they had been this whole time, except for the violent coughing coming from Victoria.

Mingyu had seen them die. He had stabbed them, he had strangled them, he had hit them with blunt objects. And there was the poison, which Mingyu had also often been present to witness, the fever, the quiet thrashing until a breath was taken that was never released. 

But this, this felt different. A doctor was by Anastasia’s bedside, and he was holding her hair back as she vomited. He dabbed her mouth with a wet cloth as she sat back up, face ashen and eyes sunken. Blood was dripping from her nose, a piece of fabric held against it that she ended up coughing further into. When it was pulled back there was far more blood on it than could've possibly come from the nosebleed alone. Her neck muscles were strained and her whole body moved with her aching breaths.

Katya had knelt on the floor at the foot of the bed, looking on at her sister. Without any hesitation, Victoria stepped forward, placing her hand on Katya’s shoulder and running her thumb over the exposed section of skin on her neck. 

As if on reflex in response to the touch Katya turned her head up to look at Victoria, and there was something in her expression that almost made a lump rise in Mingyu’s throat. She stood, rising to her feet on shaky legs and immediately Victoria took her in her arms, tilting Katya’s face away from the scene to prevent her from watching as Anastasia’s nose continued to bleed.

Mingyu had never noticed the height difference between the two of them, only now as he saw how Victoria didn't have to lower her head as she pressed her lips to Katya’s hairline, murmuring and tightening her arms around her.

“No word from the Prince?” the doctor asked and Katya made a pitiful noise in answer. Victoria looked over at the doctor and shook her head, and he sighed. “She is in her final moments.”

Katya let out a sob, Victoria loosening her grip to let Katya step towards her sister. Katya held onto Victoria’s hand to keep her arm around her waist as she stepped to the other side of the bed, glancing over at Mingyu and Jun who stepped to stand beside them. The girls remained near the foot of the bed, Katya holding onto Asya’s limp hand, and Mingyu found himself by her head, a position familiar to him.

Anastasia looked at them all. Her eyes, a dark grey-blue, had a black shape in them. When it moved Mingyu saw that it was him.

Her eyes made her way to Victoria and Katya and her eyes narrowed upwards in what Mingyu knew was a smile. They passed onto Junhui, who’s shoulders were rigid and fists were clenched. She sighed slightly and her eyes softened in what Mingyu remembered to be pity.

And finally they settled on him. Her eyes met his, blinking slowly and not breaking contact. Mingyu found himself reaching his hand forward, brushing a curl of hair out of her eyes as best he could and letting the touch linger a moment. In the dying light she looked so familiar that it physically hurt to continue looking at her, but Mingyu forced himself to not break eye contact.

It was silent for a few more minutes, but for the sound of Anastasia breathing and the hushing sounds of Victoria trying to keep Katya from bursting into tears. Anastasia for the most part kept eye contact with Mingyu.

She still looks at him as she takes a gasping breath inwards, and never releases it.

Mingyu can see the doctor lifting her wrist to check for a pulse but it’s futile. Mingyu leans forward and brushes her eyes closed. They stay shut, and the doctor looks up, face bereft of expression. Victoria does nothing to stop Katya’s tears this time.

Jun wrapped his hand around Mingyu’s forearm, likely in a gesture of attempted comfort, but Mingyu felt nothing. Instead he clapped his hand on Jun’s shoulder, who likely needed it more than Mingyu did. He was used to this.

 

Dreams rarely came to Mingyu, and whenever they did they were unremarkable and plain, forgotten before breakfast. But he dreamt that night, after the funeral of the Antonova girl. He once would've convinced himself it was guilt. He'd not gone to any of their funerals before, not since the first time. He knew better now. That night he dreamt a dream that he has not forgotten, will not forget. 

 

He is in a great ballroom, filled to the brim with faceless acquaintances, the entire room glimmering gold. He looks up to his left and sees the Princess coming down a great set of stairs. Her dress is white he assumes, for he is unable to see it clearly, the entire scene blurred slightly in the glow of candlelight. But he knows she looks very beautiful, as she looks towards him.

All illness is gone from her face, a flush on her cheeks as she reaches him, curtseying low and rising with a small smile. He too bows, as she takes his arm and they move between the dancers. The music that is playing is unfamiliar, and he is unable to see where it is coming from, but it plays nonetheless. 

She is speaking to him as they dance, laughing and tilting her head back, hair shining in the light and dozens of other dancers moving effortlessly between them. The scene is lovely, the company pleasant, but something in Mingyu rises like nausea, a lump up into his throat.

As he spins her, she begins to change. He holds her close in his arms and her narrow waist becomes broad, the thin hand on his upper arm now large and strong. Her other hand that holds her skirt drops the fabric, now coming to settle at the small of Mingyu’s back. The dress beneath his fingertips is no more, smooth fabric now becoming similar to what he himself is dressed in - full military regalia of a country he is unfamiliar with. He no longer finds himself looking down at the top of a golden head, instead meeting dark eyes, faces now level. Hair shorter than how Mingyu remembered Him, but more fitting of their surroundings, dressed in far finer clothes than He had ever owned, but undoubtedly, irrevocably Him.

Mingyu continues to dance, but no longer is it the Princess Alexandrovna in his arms, but it is Him. Unthinking, Mingyu pulls him closer, the respectable distance that Mingyu kept between himself and his previous partner now inconsequential, for Mingyu is certain now that this is a dream.

 

He pulls Him close, feels their chests pressing together and imagines that he can feel the steady thud of His heartbeat on Mingyu’s own. Mingyu leans his head down to rest in the crook of His neck, nose pressed into skin and breathing in deeply, imagining he can smell and feel such familiar flesh. Mingyu can hear Him saying something as His arms tighten around Mingyu, and although he is unable to place the words, Mingyu feels warmth rising in his chest, his heart rate increasing but the pain lessening.

Mingyu is no longer leading as they continue to dance. The song hasn't ended, and they keep dancing, close together now, uncaring of fixed moves and routines. Mingyu pulls Him closer, so much closer, embracing Him and still trying to feel Him more, hands grasping at fabric and scrambling for more. Mingyu can hear a breath of laughter near his ear, can feel the puff of air against his skin. They dance and they dance, and He says something again to Mingyu, something that Mingyu is still unable to make out, but instead of warmth this causes a wave of sadness to crash down into Mingyu’s body.

Mingyu holds Him close until the dream ends, for he knows it’s just a dream. But Mingyu still pulls Him tighter, still gasps for air into His skin as he tries to breathe Him in more, still clings to the last edges of Him as the image becomes more disjointed and fades. 

Mingyu pulls his head from His neck in the final moments, to meet His eyes and take in His features, to realise that despite the hundreds of years that have passed Mingyu still has every detail ingrained in his memory. Mingyu opens his mouth to speak but finds his voice stick. The last image is of His smile.

 

When Mingyu wakes, he is unable to breathe, gasping for air. He is unable to see, for his eyes are filled with tears. Doubled over in pain, he lets them fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it all got a bit out of hand. there'll be more expansion on the shit i've mentioned this chapter so don't be afraid!! ask any questions, and overall i'm sorry.
> 
> again every name means something ;)) here's the link to what i've been basing the members name meanings off of, but i'll probs reveal them all at the end anyway so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> http://starlighttaekwoon.tumblr.com/post/144440950225/seventeens-names-meaning
> 
> thanks for reading!!
> 
> edit// i;;ll just fuckin tell u who everyone is, katya is jeonghan, victoria is seungcheol, freddie is hansol, again akira is chan, aldrich is jihoon, and josephine is jisoo. i also never said but преданно means like faithfully or devotedly


	11. chapter eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is unsatisfactory and not proof read but we're going with it

A few days pass with Wonwoo doing little else other than hiding out at the library, in the gym, in his bed, thinking over everything. His initial reaction should be fear, he knows this. Mingyu was someone who for hundreds of years, had systematically been killing his soulmate. Been killing Wonwoo. Hell, Wonwoo was pretty sure Mingyu had tried to kill him already, that night in the underpass. He hadn't tried very hard, which was something, but that didn't change the facts.

But no matter how hard he tried, Wonwoo couldn't deny the feelings, the thoughts, the overwhelming experience of being near Mingyu, of even thinking of Mingyu. He thought of him constantly, and for a while he’d been convinced that it was out of fear, of suspicion. But if Wonwoo was truly fearful, the things he would be obsessing over wouldn't be the way Mingyu’s teeth pointed when he smiled, the way his eyes lowered and lashes fanned over his cheekbones, the way his eyebrows had furrowed as he’d been talking.

And Wonwoo wouldn't feel like this. Mingyu was in his mind incessantly, and so Wonwoo felt this way constantly. Like he couldn't breathe, like he couldn't see, lightheaded almost at only the thought of him. In all honesty, Wonwoo could easily liken it to having been punched in the face, and then in the stomach, over and over again. 

Overall however, was desire. To speak with Mingyu, to get to know him, to be in his presence. Other desires too, from as innocent as holding Mingyu’s hand, pressing his face against the column of Mingyu’s neck and letting his hand run through his black hair, to thoughts he was more ashamed of. Memories of their encounter in the nightclub developing into more, twisting and spiralling seemingly out of Wonwoo’s control, keeping him up at night until he had to sit on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands, overheating despite the freezing temperatures, until eventually, he had to let himself succumb.

 

It was affecting Wonwoo to such an extent that he was almost more afraid of the effect Mingyu was having on him than the threat Mingyu was to his own life. Wonwoo’d been on his way to the library, a route he’d walked for years now, and had passed by a cologne advert on the side of a bus stop, one that’d been there for months. But as it came into his vision, for a moment he was certain he saw Mingyu’s face in the place of the model on the poster. Wonwoo’d stopped walking, but when he looked back he saw only the advertisement, airbrushed and edited and looking nothing like Mingyu.

Wonwoo was certain that kind of thing only happened in cartoons and trashy dramas, but here Wonwoo was, borderline hallucinating over Mingyu. He’d overhear conversations and be certain he’d heard them say Mingyu’s name, only to listen closer and find that they’d done nothing of the sort. People would walk past his table in the library, and he’d look up each time, hoping it’d be Mingyu, even though there was no reason for it, no basis, no logic.

The distraction was getting borderline detrimental. Forgetting to eat, to drink, to check for cars before he crossed the street. He tried to concentrate at boxing training, but he found himself staying late, not noticing that he was the only one left. In a mock match he was so out of it that he ended up only scraping a win, sent home early by his coach to regain some concentration and to ice his wounds.

He was scared he was going crazy. And his friends had begun to notice, how he slept less, spent barely any time with them, reading messages and forgetting to reply for hours. He’d not been going out at night either, opting instead to stay home as they went to parties and clubs until it’d been almost a month since he’d been out with them. 

That was how he’d been dragged into the living room early on Friday evening by Jun and Soonyoung.

 

“This is an intervention,” Soonyoung opened with, waving his arms as he spoke, face deadly serious. “you’re bumming us all out. You’ve been depressed as hell, and you need to get wasted. Get some booze, some drugs, some action-”

“What Soonyoung is _trying_ to say,” Jun interrupted. “is we’re concerned. You’ve been acting kinda weird, for valid reasons I’m sure. So we’re making you come out with us tonight. No discussion. Now stop worrying and go and get dressed.”

 

The forecast said it was to snow that night, and it certainly looked to be heading that way as Wonwoo waited in the line for the club. Wonwoo hadn't been to this particular establishment since the night he first properly met Mingyu. They edged further and the only thing that was keeping Wonwoo from freezing was his thin jacket and the warmth of the cigarette between his fingers. 

By the time they went in Wonwoo was frozen half to death, but the warmth of all of the bodies inside acted quickly. He barely had a moment to register it before Jun was dragging him off to meet whoever the hell they were meeting. Jun was taking him towards the other end of the bar, but before they were even halfway Wonwoo felt his heartbeat pick up, palpitating in his throat. 

Soonyoung pushed on ahead and Wonwoo could see him launch himself into the arms of who Seungcheol’d once said was Seokmin. Seungcheol himself was balanced on a stool, Jeonghan in his lap, draped over Seungcheol as he ran his hands through his soulmate’s hair. And of course, of course the man watching them absentmindedly was Mingyu. Wonwoo should've realised Jun would've done something like this, should've realised from how he felt the minute he stepped into the line outside.

And Gods did he look good. He was wearing nothing worthy of notice, a white t-shirt and black jeans. But Wonwoo had never seen anyone more attractive. Mingyu’s chest looked so damn _broad,_ his skin just barely visible through the fabric. Mingyu’s arms looked as though they would rip the shirt from how tight his muscles were against it. Had he always been this tall? His hair was pushed back from his face, his cheekbones looking as though made from marble, and his jawline on it’s own had Wonwoo needing to take an extra breath.

When Wonwoo met Mingyu’s eyes they were already on him. Wonwoo noticed Mingyu’s mouth was hanging open, but he’d likely been yawning. Or something. Trust Mingyu to be bored right now. He gave Wonwoo the smallest smile, and Wonwoo would be lying if he said his heart didn't thud at the sight of it. Already Wonwoo’s head was rushing, his skin was burning, and he felt as though a typhoon had started in the pit of stomach.

But as Mingyu’s eyes refused to leave his, as Jun pushed Wonwoo ever slightly closer to him, Wonwoo felt his thoughts quiet for the first time in what felt like months. He gave Mingyu what he hoped would be perceived as a smile, followed by a definite one as Mingyu’s eyebrows raised towards his hairline. 

No, all of Wonwoo’s tumultuous thoughts, feelings of nausea, and complete lack of composure were replaced solely by desire.

“Are we gonna fucking dance or what?” Soonyoung asked, met with a burst of laughter from Seokmin, tightening the arm he had around Soonyoung’s shoulders. General shouts of agreement came from the group, all heading out together, with Wonwoo finding himself trailing at the back with Mingyu once again.

 

It was mindless for a while. Instinct took over and Wonwoo found himself dancing like it was any other night - mindless, feverish, euphoric. Again Wonwoo ended up with Mingyu, Seokmin and Soonyoung having drifted off towards the DJ, Jun still chatting someone up at the bar, and Seungcheol and Jeonghan probably fucking in the bathroom.

They weren't so close this time, the club slightly less crowded compared to the last night, but the urge to get close to Mingyu, to touch him, was even stronger than last time. Electricity buzzed though Wonwoo’s skin every time he made eye contact with Mingyu, their skin brushing together too many times to be an accident, Wonwoo’s heart feeling like it was going to beat out of his chest.

“Do you want a drink?” Mingyu asked, having to repeat the question a few times, leaning in and speaking into Wonwoo’s ear. His breath on Wonwoo’s ear made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, the smell of his cologne definable from how close they got. All Wonwoo was able to do was nod, Mingyu turning and Wonwoo following. 

He found himself placing his hand on the small of Mingyu’s back as they made their way through the crowd, guiding him towards the bar, Mingyu’s muscles tensing slightly before relaxing. His skin was burning hot under Wonwoo’s palm.

Mingyu ordered for both of them, Wonwoo knocking his back and waiting for Mingyu to finish his. It did nothing to cool Wonwoo’s skin, had no affect on Wonwoo’s dry throat.

“I’m gonna go out for a smoke.” Wonwoo found himself saying, a question hidden in it, leaning in to speak in Mingyu’s ear despite the fact that he likely would've heard him fine without him doing so. Wonwoo’s nose edged at the shell of Mingyu’s ear, his lips barely brushing the skin. He found himself wanting to lean in further, to press his nose into Mingyu’s neck and breathe him in.

Instead he pulled back, Mingyu not reacting for a moment before eventually nodding and standing, his hand between Wonwoo’s shoulder blades as he led them out of the club.

 

They music was still loud as they walked out the nightclub, almost drowning out the pounding of blood rushing through his eardrums. They walked along the side of the building a little, and, just like last time, Wonwoo finds himself in between two couples, both making out against the wall. Only this time he wasn’t alone.

The temperature seemed to have only dropped further than when they went in, and Wonwoo’s hands were numb as he pulled out his lighter. His hands fumbled to push down the catch. He told himself that the cold was what made them shake too. Wonwoo’s annoyance built as he struggled to light the cigarette that was between his lips, eyes almost crossed in concentration.

He was about to give up when Mingyu leant over, lighting Wonwoo’s cigarette from his own. Wonwoo looked up to give Mingyu some kind of gesture of thanks but the cigarette almost fell from his mouth when he realised Mingyu hadn't taken his own cigarette from between his lips when he leant over to light Wonwoo’s. Wonwoo was so affected by that simple action that he barely registered when Mingyu spoke.

“I said I’ve not heard this song in years,” Mingyu repeated, grinning again. “I remember when it came out.”

“The song’s almost as old as me.” Wonwoo said, humour in his tone. “God, you’re ancient aren't you?”

“That obvious?” Mingyu asked, but he laughed as he spoke. “This is still modern to me. You used to play the gayageum, you’re not one to talk anyway.”

Immediately Mingyu stilled, his shoulders hunching low, seemingly closing in on himself. His face hardened but his eyes were sad. Wonwoo knew on some level this ought to raise questions, that he ought to be interrogating Mingyu for answers right now, that this wasn't something that ought to illicit pity in him. The shift in Mingyu’s body language was blindingly obvious, but something in Wonwoo’s gut told him to ignore it.

“Was I any good?” Wonwoo said, leaning in slightly, smiling despite himself. The way Mingyu’s face lifted was enough to validate Wonwoo’s decision to not press the issue. 

“I told you you were terrible but you weren't,” Mingyu said, taking a drag, eyes examining the ground. “I always preferred your singing anyway.”

“Don’t know why I’d sing for you if you were insulting my gayageum skills.” Wonwoo said, teasing evident in his tone. 

“You refused,” Mingyu said, meeting Wonwoo’s eyes again. “you’d wait till you thought you were alone, or I was asleep.”

“So we would sleep together?”

“Not, _together_ together,” Mingyu said, coughing spluttering, face darkening. “although- but that’s not what I meant right now.”

“I’m teasing Gyu,” Wonwoo said, the nickname slipping out without notice. He could hear Mingyu breathe in sharply, and immediately Wonwoo went to apologise. However he stopped himself at the face splitting grin growing on Mingyu’s face.

“I’ve not heard that in a long time either,” Mingyu said, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve always had Ming since after you.”

“I’ve never had a nickname,” Wonwoo replied, trying to shift the tone away from things that were making Mingyu frown. “people called me Won for a while, when I was abroad, but it didn't feel right.”

“You never had a nickname the first time round,” Mingyu replied, lighting another cigarette. “your sisters just called you oppa and I just called you hyung.”

“Hyung?” Wonwoo said but making a note to ask about the sisters later. “You were younger than me then?”

“Yeah you were a year older than me,” Mingyu said, glad of the attempt to steer the conversation away from where he’d said too much. “but I’ve aged a little since then, on and off, so biologically I guess I’m older than you now.”

“What about in general?”

“Well,” Mingyu said, taking a long drag and furrowing his eyebrows, thinking. "it’ll be 415 years since I stopped ageing next year. You were born in the eighties right? So around 380 years older than you?”

A moment passed and Wonwoo saw Mingyu shift his weight between his feet, gnawing on his lower lip in seemingly anxiety.

“You can still call me hyung,” Wonwoo eventually said. “if you’d like.”

“Really?” Mingyu said, voice having raised what seemed an octave. Despite Wonwoo’s intentions being less than serious, Mingyu seemed genuinely happy. 

“Call me whatever you want,” Wonwoo said, dropping his cigarette to the ground. “makes no difference to me.”

Mingyu stilled, stepping closer to Wonwoo, Wonwoo unconsciously leaning in towards him.

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu said, and the way he said his name made it clear to Wonwoo that it did matter to him, it mattered very much, because the way Mingyu said his name made Wonwoo’s breathing stutter. “Wonwoo’s good.”

 

Despite the cold Wonwoo could feel the heat coming off of Mingyu from how close they’d gotten. There were centimetres between their skin, and all it took was Wonwoo to step forward off the wall he was leaning on to feel their chests press together. Wonwoo could barely breathe, only now noticing that Mingyu wasn't that much taller than him. He found himself liking the slight height difference though, that he had to look slightly up at Mingyu rather than down. Their eyes were almost level, but Wonwoo couldn't help his eyes flickering down to look at Mingyu’s lips. They were red from being bitten, tongue darting out and running over them every so often.

“What’s this?” Mingyu said, drawing Wonwoo’s eyes back up, away from his mouth. Mingyu raised his hand, swiping his thumb across Wonwoo’s cheekbone and brushing the side of his eye, movement achingly slow. He dropped his hand lower on Wonwoo’s face to edge across the bottom corner of Wonwoo’s lip. 

“Almost lost a fight,” Wonwoo said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. He’d almost forgotten that the wounds from his last boxing match hadn't completely healed, skin hypersensitive under Mingyu’s touch. “been a bit distracted lately.”

“Be more careful next time.”

At that Mingyu leant forward, angling his head up to brush his lips against the wound at the bottom of Wonwoo’s brow bone. Wonwoo wasn't sure if the burn of Mingyu’s lips on Wonwoo’s skin came from the shock of a warm sensation in the cold, or for the same reason a coil of electricity was sparking inside of him.

Mingyu’s eyes dropped to Wonwoo’s mouth. Wonwoo could barely breathe as Mingyu moved in to press his lips to the healing wound at the corner of Wonwoo’s mouth. 

It was without thought that Wonwoo raised his hands to grip Mingyu’s waist, pulling him closer to himself. Wonwoo could make out the slight widening of Mingyu’s eyes before he closed his own, pulling Mingyu towards him and pressing his lips to Mingyu’s.

 

These past few weeks Wonwoo'd felt like he’s been waking up from the longest sleep of his life. Like he’s coming alive again. He’s certain he didn't feel like this even before he started ageing, everything so volatile and overwhelming, so constant in his head. Everything is so loud, but at this moment, Wonwoo is numb to everything that isn't Kim Mingyu.

 

It aches, the desire for Mingyu. He’s delicate, almost hesitant, barely moving until Wonwoo fists his hand in the back of Mingyu’s hair and pushes further. It deepens quickly, Mingyu seeming to realise exactly what was happening from the sudden grip in Wonwoo’s hair and the way he’s pressed against the wall, his head knocking painfully against it but forgotten quickly as Mingyu begins to tug on his hair.

Wonwoo’s kissed other people, plenty of them, but never, never had they felt like this. Every inch of Wonwoo is being consumed and filled with Mingyu, with the fistfuls of his hair in Wonwoo’s hand, his body pressed against his own, Mingyu’s thigh slotted between Wonwoo’s, his taste in Wonwoo’s mouth and the tiniest gasps in Wonwoo’s ears.

They keep kissing, and Wonwoo can feel his chest going tight for lack of breath but he can’t bring himself to break apart from Mingyu. Right now it feels like he could never. Mingyu is at least equally as desperate, his arms almost painfully tight as he pulls Wonwoo close, lips bruising and harsh.

Wonwoo’s skin is burning, so when he feels cold slipping down his neck it’s unexpected. Wonwoo doesn't stop Mingyu, but he slows, trying to let his mind catch up with his surroundings. Mingyu slows too, pulling back slightly. Wonwoo could scarcely see his iris for how dilated his pupils are. Mingyu’s breathing was as haggard as Wonwoo’s, hair disheveled and lips swollen.

For a moment Wonwoo was caught up in just looking at Mingyu, pulse hammering and throat closed, but the urge to kiss Mingyu again reminds Wonwoo of why he stopped in the first place. He glanced slightly behind Mingyu, and the sight of snow beginning to fall comes as a surprise.

From the amount of snow that was dusting the pavement it must’ve been snowing for a while now, the two of them having been slightly sheltered and wholly distracted. Wonwoo could feel the heat coming off of Mingyu, and the urge to push back closer to him was only partially to escape the cold. 

Wonwoo looked back at Mingyu, finding his eyes had never left Wonwoo’s face. His lips were parted, his shoulders still heaving from the weight of his breathing. His expression was soft however, eyes almost afraid. It caused a stirring in Wonwoo’s chest that had him leaning in and pressing his lips back to Mingyu’s.

But before it can go further, Mingyu was the one to pull back. 

“The snow’s getting heavy,” he says, surprising Wonwoo slightly. His voice was raspy, but firm. “you walked here didn't you?”

Wonwoo nodded, opening his mouth to reply but finding himself unable to form any words. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to push it back to where it’d been styled before he’d gone out. He was unsure he’d manage to return it to it’s former glory, but Mingyu reached forward, smoothing it down as he spoke.

“I don’t live far from here.”

Immediately Wonwoo stiffened. Through everything that’d happened, Wonwoo’d forgotten the gravity of it all. Mingyu was still his soulmate, had still tried to kill Wonwoo and had succeeded in the past. There was the complication of Wonwoo’s feelings for Mingyu, but he was still coherent enough to be apprehensive. 

“Text Jun,” Mingyu said quickly, obviously having picked up on Wonwoo’s reaction. “I live with Jeonghan and Seokmin, and Seokmin’ll probably be back later. You can tell Jun where you are, tell your flatmates, so they’ll know you’re with me. You can sleep on the couch, or I will, just so you’re not walking back in the snow on your own-“

An overwhelmingly large part of Wonwoo wants to kiss Mingyu again, but instead he pulls out his phone, difficult enough in his tight jeans, more difficult still in how close he’s still pressed to Mingyu. He fires off a text to Soonyoung and Jun, Hansol as well for good measure, saying he’s staying at Mingyu’s and he’ll text them in the morning. The meaning of the text is far deeper for Jun, but either way, if Wonwoo doesn't come back in the morning, the three of them’ll know where to go. But still, something in the softness of Mingyu’s eyes and the stillness in his own body told Wonwoo he’s not in any danger.

“Let’s go,” Wonwoo says and the expression of surprise Mingyu takes on releases a bark of laughter from Wonwoo. Mingyu softens, but the shock is still evident in how wide his eyes remain as he steps back from Wonwoo, turning to walk down the street and looking back at Wonwoo.

He can see how Mingyu’s hand twitches as Wonwoo steps towards him. They’ve barely started walking, Mingyu making comments about the snow and Wonwoo making equally as casual replies, trying to keep the situation as normal as possible. But Wonwoo’s hand knocks against Mingyu’s one too many times, and Wonwoo takes in a breath before catching Mingyu’s fingers that are continually brushing against his own, threading them through his and letting the warmth of Mingyu’s hand bleed into his own as they walk, sides pressed together and their breath coming out in clouds before them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope?? this was okay. my first exam is this friday n they're gonna last like a month so just wanted to get this out there while i'm still coherent. thanks for reading, lemme know if u see any unforgivable errors, next chapter will hopefully be up...by like june.
> 
> here is a gayageum https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gayageum
> 
> n some wee videos for a laff (they're cool as fuck btw check out her channel) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=okd8brEiidA
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2yziVlGK2AE


	12. chapter twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was written in one go at four in the morning, i also did literal zero historical research because Exams. a mess.

_Somewhere in the Northern Taebaek Mountains, Korean Peninsula, 1952_

There is a moment. Between waking and sleeping, that Mingyu forgets. It’s been around three hundred and fifty years, and still, for all the time that a breath holds, it’s as though nothing has changed. That in a minute, Mingyu will open his eyes, and find he has fallen asleep in His arms, and that soon they will both have to wake. 

Maybe today they’ll have found work, something physical, to bring in just that extra bit of money to help feed a few more mouths. Maybe it’s harvest season, and depending on the weather one will help the other on their land. Maybe there’s nothing to do. No house tasks, no sick siblings, no festivals or rituals needing completed. They might go down to the river, if weather permits. The younger ones might tag along, and they’ll try to teach them to swim, but fail and end up playing around the whole day, walking home with a child in each arm, exhausted and content. Perhaps it’ll be just the two of them.

 

But always Mingyu wakes to find himself without Him. Not always alone. But without Him. 

“Ge, the sun’s almost down,” came a voice, along with a shaking that was too gentle for their situation. “we have to get up.”

Mingyu groaned, trying to let irritation smother the shock of weight returning to his chest. His back ached, shoulders stiff and head pounding. He pulled himself to a seated position, pausing for a moment to let his eyes clear. The cramped tent remained the same as always, and Feng was crouched in the corner, tying his laces and hands still fumbling as he tried to do them tight enough.

Mingyu made some kind of grunting noise, jerking his head for Feng to come over. He sat next to Mingyu’s roll mat, legs outstretched, and Mingyu pulled Feng’s feet into his lap, undoing the mangled laces and retying them. 

“Idiot,” Mingyu said, under his breath but knowing Feng had heard him as he ducked out of their tent, leaving Mingyu to dress himself in the growing dark of the tent.

When Mingyu emerges he’s blinded for a second, the setting sun burning orange down the mountains and glaring in Mingyu’s eyes. He turned away and saw Feng chatting with the guards they were taking over from, sharing cigarettes and laughing about something. God knows what they would have to laugh about here. 

Mingyu joined them, standing at Feng’s side and keeping stoic. The other men finished up their conversation, retreating to their tent and leaving Mingyu and Feng alone. They settled down into their worn in spots, turning their backs on the valley and the distant camp below them, eyes focused on their surroundings. The alternating between night and day watch had Mingyu firmly settled in the idea that his sleep pattern would never again return to normal, but he felt himself growing more awake as he choked back whatever was in the tin flask Feng passed to him. It tasted like bile.

Mingyu kept his eyes on the gun in his lap, heavy and digging into the flesh of his thighs even through his fatigues, ignoring the weight of Feng’s stare. 

The night was hot, humidity beginning to settle on Mingyu’s neck, helmets discarded next to them. Mingyu’d never liked the heat. He couldn't reign in his thoughts as well as he’d liked to, not when sweat dripped down his neck and images of nights where the sun never set plagued his memory.

He ran through the differences again in his head. Feng, who looked so different from Mingyu's own boy, whose image was eternally present in Mingyu's mind. Shaved head, but growing too long on the top. He was going to ask Mingyu to cut it again, and the closeness of them would surely do funny things to Mingyu’s head like it had before. He’d tell him to get one of the other men to do it. 

Ears far higher on his head, and not as odd a shape. Mingyu’d always teased his own boy about that. Wider mouth, more angular jaw, lower brow bone and rounded nose. A good bit shorter too. Very obviously so unlike his own boy, but there was something, still _something_ there. 

Maybe it was having to be so close to Feng. Maybe it was the length of time they’d spent together. Maybe it’d gone on too long.

 

They were alone, completely alone, he’d had had dozens, hundreds of opportunities for months now. Mingyu had grudgingly accepted he’d grown fond of the kid, but hadn't thought much of it. People did funny things during a war.

He’d hid it well though, in his own opinion. Keeping distant, keeping cold. He was doing well.

“Ge,” Feng asked and without thought Mingyu raised his eyes. “do you have a family?”

It was typical of the kid to do this, to ask such a difficult question out of the blue. He’d usually try to start a conversation, which Mingyu would unwillingly oblige to. Sometimes they’d play cards, sometimes they’d swap stories, but always it made Mingyu uneasy. Never had it made him feel like this.

 

 

“Ge?”

 

 

_There’s so many people. So many people. It’d been like this at the port too, so crushed, Mingyu could barely even see the ocean from how far back the crowds went, only the tall shapes of the battleships, and the distant figures of people, packed tight onto the decks as they looked down over at the rest of the people trying to join them._

 

_Mingyu’d turned them back almost as soon as he saw the crowds, knowing they’d never get a place but assuring them there were other ways. Keeping them positive, from losing hope. Trucks were rolling past, filled to bursting with people. No belongings. Abandoned bags of people’s lives lay at the sides of the roads, and soon enough the people left behind would scavenge through them to find something, anything, that might buy a ticket further South._

 

_The train station was the next logical place, so Mingyu had herded them there. Jiyoung had the baby on her back, alternating with Sooyoung to save their bones from aching even further after the days of walking. The baby, he’d stopped crying after the first few days. Mingyu’d hoped the fact that most of them were young would've helped, but there was no sympathy here. Only desperation. Taehyun was in his arms, his feet blistered and cracked, and Eunyoung wasn't much better. She hadn't spoken since they’d arrived in the city. But she hadn't let go of Mingyu’s hand, even when she slept._

 

_When Mingyu had finally arrived at the village, he found only the children left. Everyone else had left. Youngjae had said all of their uncles and their father’d been taken by the army, and their mother and aunties had left to go find food a few weeks ago. None of them had come back._

 

_They’d slept outside the train station for two days. Each day they’d sit and wait for a train to come in, one that was free of soldiers and had enough space for them to get on. It was getting to the point where Mingyu was considering splitting them up. Sooyoung could take Taehyun and the baby, she was old enough to manage with them both. Youngjae, he could follow later, smart enough to cope on his own, Jiyoung too. Eunyoung wouldn't leave Mingyu, he knew that, but maybe if she was sleeping he could move her onto a train without her waking._

 

_Finally though, it came, screeching down the tracks, people jumping on before it’d even come to a stop._

 

_Any respect Mingyu had for other people was gone as he picked up Eunyoung and Taehyun, making sure the rest of them were all in front of him before moving. He pushed, he shoved, he had no thought about anything other than getting them all onto that train._

 

_Youngjae was the first to pull himself on, the tallest of the lot of them and strongest, quickly pulling up Jiyoung and the baby and pushing them back, securely into the carriage. Sooyoung heaved herself up, turning around and looking at Mingyu. He passed Taehyun into her arms, and then Eunyoung. Taehyun went back to where Youngjae beckoned, but Eunyoung stayed in Sooyoung’s arms, waiting for Mingyu._

 

_“When you get to Busan, go to the hospital, the big one by the main port. Find a doctor named Choi, he’s got a big scar on his cheek and he wears glasses. Tell him you were with me. He’ll help you out.”_

 

_“What about you? When will you get there?” Sooyoung asked, trying to keep calm but her voice had started to shake over the deafening noise of the station. She was the oldest of the lot of them, but she’d turned sixteen not even a month ago. “You’ll come on a truck, or the next train.”_

 

_“Stay together. That's the most important thing.” Mingyu called, already getting jostled further back onto the platform and Sooyoung getting pushed further back on the train. “I’ll see you in Busan.”_

 

_“Why isn't he on the train unnie? Why isn't he getting on?”_

 

_Mingyu didn't move, only let himself get pushed even further back into the station, the train already starting to pull away, people running after it, climbing onto the roof. He tried not to watch as Eunyoung started to scream, as Sooyoung held her tight to stop her from breaking free, as the train made it’s way South, to safety, and Mingyu found himself alone again._

 

 

 

“Ge? It’s rude not to answer people’s questions.”

“I have no family,” Mingyu said, harsher than he meant.

“Everyone has a family,” Feng said, picking up his helmet and tossing it to Mingyu. There was a photo taped to the inside, of a crowd of people with faces that Mingyu felt he knew. “That’s my mum and my dad, and my aunties and uncles and cousins.”

“No siblings?” Mingyu asked, chucking the helmet back at Feng, who nodded.

“Three sisters. They’re older though. Ageing now. Moved away to live with their husbands. Haven't seen them for years.”

Immediately a crush of guilt settled in Mingyu again. The kid was so young, and it’d been so long since he’d seen his family. They’d surely be getting leave soon enough, and they were in the same unit. There was no reason for Feng not to be allowed home one more time, see his mum and his nephews. Come back and suddenly get sick. Illness was common in a place like this anyhow. Mingyu could give him a bit more time.

“Qi’s the oldest. Her husband was from India, she lives in Bombay now. Jie’s in the middle, she lives somewhere in Sichuan, I forget where. Tzuyu, I always got along with her best, she always told me-“

 

Feng was cut off. His eyes were wide as he looked at Mingyu, and slowly he brought his hand to his side. He clamped his hand against it and didn't move it away. 

“Ge? Can you sound the alarm?”

Mingyu did it on reflex, waking the other men who stumbled out, bleary but beginning to shout, one stoking the signal fire and the other radioing down. Mingyu knew he ought to be checking where the shot had come from, knew he ought to be helping. He didn’t.

He crawled over to where Feng was still sitting, hooking his arms under his and dragging him behind the rock he’d been leaning against. The men were yelling behind them, and Mingyu could hear the sounds of the camp below them reacting to their alarm. But Mingyu ignored it as he pulled Feng closer to him, taking him into his arms and cradling him against his chest.

 

“Not like you to be so emotional,” Feng said, smiling but blood running from his mouth.

“Don’t speak,” Mingyu said, trying to keep his voice from cracking. “Don’t. This wasn't how it was supposed to happen, there was supposed to be more time.”

“If anything I should be the one not making sense right now.”

“Shut up! You need to save your energy, stop wasting it. I was going to give you more time, it wasn't supposed to end this way. You were going to go home, see your family before I had to do it, there was supposed to be more time.”

“Ge it’s okay,” Feng said, raising a hand and fumbling for Mingyu’s. It was hot and slick with blood. “I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”

Mingyu tried to speak but his throat was closing in. There was supposed to be more _time_.

“What, you think I hadn't figured it out?” Feng was grinning now, even though his skin was like ash and Mingyu could feel him shifting with the effort to breathe. “We’ll meet again, and there’ll be more time. Every time.”

Mingyu’s mind couldn't even correct Feng, tell him that the time wasn't for them to be together but before Feng was inevitably killed anyway, but at this moment Mingyu’s consciousness extended only to the man who was bleeding out in his arms, and to a memory of the same thing happening before.

“Keep yourself alive yeah? I don’t think I’d want anyone who wasn't you.”

Mingyu let out a bark of laughter at that. He could understand that. He understood that. He pulled Feng further into his chest, hunched over and hand in the other boy’s hair, not wanting to lean back and look at the glassy stare of the now still boy. 

 

Mingyu could find every difference between all of them and Him. But the eyes were always the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ?? wild. lemme know if u see any mistakes, sorry it's short, leave a comment if u feel like it


	13. chapter thirteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it is four in the morning. i literally wrote this entire thing in one sitting. my last exam is tomorrow. nothing has been proofread. we're firing in here folks.

There was no moment of disorientation when Wonwoo began to wake. He didn't have a mini freak out when he woke up in someone else’s bed, in an apartment he didn't know. His headache wasn't even as bad as it normally was, and exhaustion didn't sluggishly claw at his body like it had done for years. 

Mingyu had fallen asleep before Wonwoo and Wonwoo can remember just looking at him for what felt like hours, until his eyes forced themselves closed against Wonwoo’s own will. Even his skin seemed perfect, bronzed and almost glowing. The temptation to run his hands over the dark curves of the tattoos on Mingyu’s back was strong, but Wonwoo didn't trust himself to move from where Mingyu had thrown an arm over him, tentative but solid. 

He found himself to be the only occupant of the bed when he woke, but the side next to him was still warm, and he could hear someone moving about in the kitchen through the open door of the bedroom. Wonwoo sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for the blood to move back to everywhere it ought to be, pulling on a pair of boxers that he assumed were his before walking out of Mingyu’s bedroom, furtive despite everything. 

 

The kitchen held more life than Mingyu’s bedroom, the amount of photographs on the walls and dishes in the sink making it evident Mingyu didn't live alone. A quick glance at the photos showed Seungcheol in a few, usually looking at Jeonghan rather than the camera.

Mingyu hadn't noticed him yet, his back turned and humming under his breath as he poured coffee, turning around with a mug in each hand. He jumped slightly upon seeing Wonwoo, and the fact that Wonwoo found the action cute had his stomach reeling. Mingyu laughed at himself, but the fact that he was shirtless meant Wonwoo could see the blush that formed up his neck.

“I wasn't sure if you’d want anything to eat,” Mingyu said, raising an arm as though to rub at the back of his neck, but remembering he was holding a mug halfway through. “you used to- I thought you might not like eating first thing.”

“I don’t,” Wonwoo said. “coffee’s good. Thank you.”

The slump in Mingyu’s shoulders seemed to be one of relief, and Wonwoo stepped forward to take one of the mugs from Mingyu, smiling as he did so to further reassure Mingyu.

“Seokmin’ll be up soon,” Mingyu said as Wonwoo sipped his coffee, trying not to be surprised when he found it to be exactly how he liked it. Black, one tablespoon of sugar. “he’ll head for the kitchen first thing, so if you want to avoid him…”

Wonwoo nodded and Mingyu smiled at him, heading out of the kitchen back towards his bedroom, Wonwoo following. As he walked, he heard laughter that sounded very like Soonyoung’s coming from down the hall. He chose not to dwell on it.

 

Mingyu waited for Wonwoo to step into his room before closing the door, a gesture which prompted a feeling of melancholy that Wonwoo was unwilling to look into. He felt aimless for a moment, but Mingyu turned to look at him with weight in his gaze. He sat back down on the bed, tucking himself under the covers but sitting with his legs crossed under him, coffee held in his lap. Wonwoo sat down too, mirroring Mingyu’s position as he faced him.

“Are you cold?” Mingyu asked, adjusting the covers over Wonwoo’s legs even when he shook his head. Neither of them spoke, Mingyu nursing his coffee and trying not to seem like he was staring at Wonwoo. Not that Wonwoo would've minded, as he was unabashedly doing the same thing. His eyes caught on the bruises that were blooming on Mingyu’s neck and chest, and the knowledge that similar marks were on his own body left Wonwoo feeling turbulent.

One edged at Mingyu’s collarbone, just where the tattoo of the compass began. Wonwoo ran his eyes over the rest of Mingyu’s torso, dark strands of ink dotted about his skin. The urge to run his hands over them overwhelmed him. He settled his half empty mug between his legs, reaching out to run his fingers over the underside of Mingyu’s forearm, and the words that were etched there.

 _“He’s more myself than I am,”_ Wonwoo read aloud, not letting the meaning fully settle into him as he met Mingyu’s eyes. Wordlessly, Mingyu set his cup in-between his legs as Wonwoo had, holding out his left arm for Wonwoo. He traced the shape of the words there, barely brushing the skin with the back of his fingernail. _“whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”_

“From Wuthering Heights, that you so shunned,” Mingyu said, smiling slightly. 

“I still won’t read it.” Wonwoo replied and Mingyu’s laugh was genuine, open mouthed and eyes half closed. “What about this one?” He asked, running his hand up the length of Mingyu’s arm to brush against his bicep.

“The mountains North of our village,” Mingyu said, voice soft as he refused to meet Wonwoo’s eyes.

“Our village?”

“Town really, by the standards back then. The capital, Kaesong, was to the South, and West a bit.”

“Kaesong? That’s still a city now isn't it?” 

“Yes,” Mingyu said, raising his eyes to Wonwoo’s finally. “in the North. I don’t know if I’ll ever see the mountains again, so I put them on my arm. It was stupid, but I like them.”

“It’s not stupid,” Wonwoo said, the conviction in his voice surprising him. Wonwoo drew his fingertips over Mingyu’s chest, resting his hands on his other arm. “and these?”

“Aleksei and Anastasia,” Mingyu said, eyes focused on the Cyrillic on his arm. 

“What, were they your favourites? Out of every version of me?” Wonwoo’s question was loaded but his voice lacked it's intended bite.

“Not favourites,” Mingyu replied, unperturbed by the bluntness. “ones that were…significant.” His voice was low as he spoke, slow and contemplative. “You were all significant obviously, but there were instances where I spent more time with hem, or they had more of an impact one me. Times it was harder. Although they were all hard. I can't say hurt more. They all hurt.”

 

Mingyu shifted slightly, turning his back to show his side. Wonwoo reached down to take the mug from between Mingyu’s legs, sensing an impending spillage with how Mingyu was moving. On the side of Mingyu’s abdomen was the image of an old ship, half the height of Wonwoo’s thumb, cutting through waves.

“There was a missionary,” Mingyu said, running a hand through his still sleep addled hair. “he was the first one I had to travel far to get to. I think it’s part of Malaysia now, where I found him. I never knew his name, I never spoke to him. I just…that was the last time I used violence. Physically did it myself. I couldn't bear having to-“

Mingyu’s voice caught as he spoke, surprise evident on his face as he registered what'd happened. Wonwoo slid his hand down Mingyu’s arm, taking his hand. Mingyu’s eyes widened, but he didn't pull away. Wonwoo knew he ought to be angry. Disgusted. Terrified. But looking at the man, the boy sitting in front of him, Wonwoo felt none of these things.

“Anyway, I got the tattoo for him. The patron saint of missionaries is Saint Xavier, one of his attributes is an old ship.”

“Did it often happen that you never got to know them?” Wonwoo asked, hoping that it was okay to pry (even though he knew he had every right to) but Mingyu seemed to welcome the question.

“In the beginning. It was easier that way. Impersonal. But it got harder as time went on, for me and just logistically. I needed to be closer once I started using poison.”

Mingyu’s voice choked out the last word. 

“Poison?” 

“That sounds bad,” Mingyu said, eyes widening. “I mean, it is bad, but it sounds bad in a different way.” He leaned forward and plucked Wonwoo’s mug from his knees, knocking back some of it, and putting it back from where he took it. His face contorted as he swallowed. “Disgusting."

“Mingyu, I didn't think you’d poisoned me.” Wonwoo had a slight urge to laugh, mostly at Mingyu’s eagerness to prove it to Wonwoo, even though the connotations had been sinister. It was also partly at the expression on Mingyu’s face as he drank the black coffee, grimacing still as tried to mask the taste with his own cup that Wonwoo had handed back to him.

“Just to be sure,” Mingyu said, sheepish. “And yeah. Poison. It was virtually undetectable, came on as a fever or some kind of illness. The life expectancy was so low back then, no one thought it odd.”

 

Mingyu turned to show the rest of his back to Wonwoo. On each shoulder blade was a word, one written in Arabic and the other in what Wonwoo assumed to be Punjabi. 

“Najia and Anantya. Najia was one of the first I poisoned. I was testing it out, and it…the dosage was too much, almost immediately she just keeled over. It was awful. And Anantya, she worked in the guesthouse I stayed at. No one there gave a shit about her. They treated her like a slave, and then they just left her in her room to get sicker and die. I had no right to be angry, but I still was. I got them all arrested for illegally selling alcohol, the city was under prohibition. They were probably all executed. But still. It wasn't fair.”

“And what’s this?” Wonwoo asked, the emotion in Mingyu's voice having vaguely rendered him without being able to form a response. He ran a hand between Mingyu’s shoulder blades, watching goosebumps grow on the back of his neck. A series of black lines made the outline of a bird that looked like a phoenix, the design shifting as Mingyu’s muscles tensed, turning back around to face Wonwoo.

“That’s Feng. He was the last before you.”

“How did you kill him?”

“I didn’t.”

 

Wonwoo tried to hide his surprise. He took both of their mugs and turned, setting them on the table at the side of Mingyu’s bed.

“What do you mean?” Wonwoo asked, still not having turned back.

“He was killed. Shot, before I could do anything. I was going to give him some time, let him see his sisters, go home. But it wasn't my decision this time.”

“Was this during the war?” Wonwoo asked, turning back to see Mingyu nodding. He leant forward, aware of the scarce space between the two of them, unsure of how to comfort Mingyu, if he ought to do so in the first place. “It’s been so long since then.”

“Sixty five years. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Lost me? Surely that’s what you want. Me out the way and you here forever.”

“Don’t say that,” Mingyu said sharply. “that’s never what I wanted.”

“Isn’t it? Immortality, never ending youth. If that wasn't the goal then what was? Did your incarnation just end up dead and you’re killing the rest of us out of spite?”

“No, it was never that,” Mingyu said, his stony expression giving way to desperation. “I needed time, there were things I needed to do, things _you_ needed to do. The life expectancy in the capital was twenty four. Twenty four, Wonwoo.”

“Surely in the almost five hundred years it’s been, you could've stopped at some point. Could've let me live.”

“I’d hoped, with the fall of the empire, with the fall of Joseon, but then came the occupation, and the forming of the North. Besides, I was afraid. The longer it went on the worse it got, I had to keep going."

“What are you afraid of Mingyu?” Wonwoo asked, placing a finger under Mingyu’s chin and tilting his face up. He was chewing on his lip so hard Wonwoo was scared it’d bleed, his eyes wide and bright. “Did you love any of us?”

 

“Not completely. Not since the beginning. But that was the point. I wasn't supposed to be theirs. For Idona, for Khaled, for Chiyo, for Javed, for Niran. They were all you, they were all my soulmate, but I wasn't their intended. I think if I’d loved any of them like the way I'd loved the first time, I’d have kept ageing even after they died. Or it’d just stop. I wouldn't meet another incarnation. Like with Junhui.”

“When Jun lost his soulmate, was that it for him?” Wonwoo asked, a stabbing feeling in his gut accompanying his words as he thought of his friend.

“I worry it is. He keeps going, out of hope, but it’s been so long. After Feng, I feared it was over for me too, that since he hadn't died of my hands it was over.”

“Did you love him?”

“Given more time I think I would’ve. And it was so long, between him and you. I was so afraid.”

“Afraid?”

“Yes,” Mingyu said, finally leaning back against the headboard, face suddenly overcome with weariness. “I couldn't pinpoint why. I just was. The same feeling in my gut that told me you were my soulmate each time we met. The same feeling that kept me going.”

“That kept telling you to end all of them?”

“Kept me from ending myself,” Mingyu said, accompanied by a bitter laugh. Wonwoo felt as though ice was being held against the back of his neck. “I thought, why keep going? Why keep doing this? If I die, it’ll start over again. Clean slate. But I’d gone on for so long, all of these memories of you would be lost. Something told me to keep going.”

“Do you still feel that way now?”

“No,” Mingyu said simply, turning to look at Wonwoo. “I don’t feel like ending it or like keeping going. I feel like it’s over. Knew it was over first time I saw you.”

“Was this before or after you tried to kill me in the underpass?”

“Ah yes,” Mingyu said, smiling. “my last ditch attempt. You could tell I didn't try very hard.”

“Why me? Why am I the last one?” Wonwoo tried to keep hope from lacing his words, tried to keep his hammering pulse from showing in his neck.

 

Mingyu didn't speak, only sat forward, pulling the waistband of his boxers down slightly to show a tattoo that ran just above his hipbone. It was Hanja, two characters that Wonwoo had known all his life. His own name.

“This was the first tattoo I ever got. It’s his name. Your name. The first.”

“Is that why you asked me that? The first time we spoke?” 

Mingyu nodded but didn't lift his eyes from the characters. When he did his eyes bore into Wonwoo’s, muscle tight in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“Every detail about you is the same. Your face, your laugh, the way you walk and the way your nose scrunches when you smile. You have the same mole on the side of your ribcage. You’re a bit taller, a bit stronger, but I guess that’s due to better nutrition and less pneumonia when you were a kid. The way you say my name is the same.”

“I’m not the same person Mingyu,” Wonwoo said, gently as he reached out to place a hand on Mingyu’s shoulder. He leant into the touch as though if Wonwoo were to take his hand away, Mingyu would collapse.

“I know, I know you aren’t. But even the way you act, it’s as though something picked you up from our life then and placed you in the future. Even the way you react to different situations. Every place you’ve studied is somewhere you’ve lived. Every word you say is something he’d say. I don’t know if they did it to shock me, to delay things so that I’d get to know you, grow reluctant.”

“If who did it Mingyu?”

“The gods,” Mingyu answered, eyebrows furrowed as if puzzled by Wonwoo's ignorance. “it’s all planned Wonwoo. I don’t know how I’ve escaped their notice for so long, maybe they were sympathetic to my cause. But they plan everything, every detail of it. And I think they did this to tell me its over. My task is done, and it’s time for me to start dying. To grow old. To grow old with you. To be with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ?? hopefully some things are clearer??? if not hmu. more to come. next chapter is the final *flashback* kinda thing from mingyu's pov, no prizes for guessing who its gonna b. leave a comment if u want, Especially if u see spelling mistakes because. my vision is literally blurring.
> 
> heres kinda what the quote tattoos look like https://goo.gl/images/eykqy8
> 
> the mountains https://goo.gl/images/0SD0Cw or https://goo.gl/images/re5P6b
> 
> the ship (like this but on his like side of ribcage??) https://goo.gl/images/SBgICF
> 
> phoenix is like https://goo.gl/images/EBFAZQ or https://goo.gl/images/NbxD2n


	14. chapter fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im sorry. this was written listening exclusively to joe hisaishi if ur wantin to copy the vibe.

_Sepo, Kingdom of Joseon, late 16th century to early 17th century_

 

Mingyu doesn't remember meeting Wonwoo for the first time. There is no life before Wonwoo versus life after Wonwoo -  he was part of Mingyu’s life from before Mingyu had any recollection of what life was.

 

Falling over in the market, sitting up and finding himself separated from his aunties and trying to fight back tears. There are so many people, all so much bigger than Mingyu, all walking so quickly and making Mingyu's head spin. He'll be given hell for falling behind, and for getting dirt on his clothes. Mingyu's eyes begin to fill with tears, out of fear, out of loneliness, and out of pain as his hands sting from the grazes that are now covering his palms. But Wonwoo finds him, coming out of nowhere and smiling at Mingyu. Hyung always seemed to be where Mingyu need him. Wonwoo crouches before him and lets him dry his eyes with chubby wrists, smiling in a way that has Mingyu knowing Wonwoo won't tell anyone he'd seen Mingyu cry, before taking his hand, helping him up, and leading him out of the crowds. 

 

Learning how to swim in the river that remained freezing even in the height of summer. The air was heavy and dust filled, and Mingyu could see the other boys further downstream, playing about and calling to one another, not a single one having hesitated in jumping in. But Mingyu remembers standing on the bank, having dropped a foot into the water and immediately recoiled. The water would likely be up to his shoulders, and despite the heat Mingyu felt perfectly content with sitting under the overhanging willow tree, watching the other boys.

But before Mingyu made any move to sit back, a hand grabbed at his ankle, sliding him off the bank and into the water. Mingyu’s shout was lost as he was submerged, only to be pulled right back up, spluttering and coughing. Wonwoo’s grin had split his cheeks, and any irritation Mingyu felt became feigned at the sight of it.

Wonwoo’s arms were firm around Mingyu, holding him above the water and instinctively Mingyu wrapped his legs around the other boy, leaning over to hit him around the back of the head, Wonwoo ducking and laughing and threatening to submerge Mingyu once again. The water came only halfway up to Wonwoo's ribs, his growth spurt having come early, leaving Mingyu in his wake. Instead of continuing to hit him Mingyu shifted, scrambling to sit on top of Wonwoo’s shoulders and fisting his hands in his hair, commanding Wonwoo towards the other boys who’d begun to copy their stance, readying themselves to resume their fighting, the sun beating down on Mingyu's wet shoulders and seeming to warm him all the way down to his toes. 

 

Festivals were often spent with one another. Mingyu’s mother had started working at the home of a dignitary to scrape some more money together, as the time between when his father was granted leave from the army grew longer and longer as invasion attempts increased in frequency. Mingyu would tend to their meagre patch of land, all of them isolated from threats of occupation this far in the country, Mingyu’s concerns being related to trying to feed the ever growing number of mouths. By the time he was eleven there were eight more younger than him, and even with the help of the neighbouring women Mingyu found himself with a baby strapped to his back as he tried to harvest food, younger ones running around, too young and reliant on Mingyu to help.

Wonwoo’s sisters were what truly gave Mingyu a break from the constant worry. Three were older than him, and they seemed to see Mingyu as an extension of Wonwoo, eagerly taking the younger ones and settling them with Wonwoo’s own younger sisters. Mingyu had a chance to have his hand taken by Wonwoo, running through the fields until they reached the edge of the forest, messing around with whatever they could find, throwing rocks at trees and waving sticks at one another. Mingyu could forget about how his mother had told him another baby would be along in the next few months and Wonwoo could forget about how the shaman had said that this baby would be the last for his own mother, and that it’d be another girl, leaving him to be the only son.

Wonwoo’s mother had grown weak over the years, her health meaning she could scarcely walk to the edge of their land let alone to the temple. All of Wonwoo’s older sisters were still unmarried, and despite the age difference (one that shrank as each year passed) Wonwoo was fiercely protective, not letting any of them leave the house without their faces veiled, as society dictated. Mingyu was more lax, the girls running wild with their brothers, Mingyu too preoccupied with the younger ones to keep an eye on them, and reluctant to mar their childhood before they too became burdened by their family's situation.

 

They’d walk to the temple together, the lane leading down to the town quiet as they walked. These are the nights Mingyu remembers best, he and Wonwoo alone, sun only beginning to set and the air golden and powdery. They rarely spoke, a heavy feeling in Mingyu’s chest from the calm and the worship. The comfort that came from religion was partly the ritual of it all, and partly being with Wonwoo. There were no expectations on Mingyu while they went to the temple; this was a duty, respected and something he had to do. Despite all the impending responsibility at home, for these brief moments he was excused, allowed to breathe and think. 

When they prayed, bowed low and faces pressed into the mat, Mingyu would clench his eyes closed and grit his teeth, asking for a good harvest and continued health of his family. But when he thought of something for himself, what came to mind was rarely wealth or luck. More often than not it was Wonwoo with his head thrown back, eyes narrowed and teeth bared as he laughed at whatever idiotic thing Mingyu had done to try and make the other smile.

Even in the bitter winter, when winds chased them towards town and cold tore at their skin, Mingyu never voiced a complaint. Because these were times that Wonwoo would grip his hand tight, leading them and donating body heat, keeping him close. When the snow stopped Mingyu from seeing more than spitting distance in front of him, Mingyu would close his eyes and trust Wonwoo to guide him. 

When it rained they’d thunder down the path, feet slamming against the puddles of mud, knowing they’d have to clean off before entering the temple but doing anything to get out of the rain that threatened to bruise their skin with how heavy it fell. In these times it was each man for himself, at least until Mingyu slipped once, just shy of Wonwoo’s sixteenth birthday and the Sambok festival. He’d fallen, only avoiding going flat on his face by bracing his hands in front of him. Wonwoo had turned and laughed, only stopping after Mingyu rolled onto his back clutching his arm to his chest. 

He managed to stop himself from crying out but he couldn't stop his face from contorting in pain. He saw Wonwoo come and stand over him, and though his vision was blurry from the rain he still saw how Wonwoo’s face was blank, standing without moving, the rise of his breath scarcely even visible. It was only when Mingyu tried to move his arm but couldn't contain the shout that came from the pain of the movement that Wonwoo seemed to react. He positioned his arms around Mingyu’s waist, pulling him into a seated position before he could stand.

Mingyu was overcome with dizziness, could feel the blood rushing from his head and it was only as he leant his forehead against Wonwoo’s shoulder that he was prevented from passing out. Still Wonwoo didn't speak, holding Mingyu upright as they slowly made their way into the village, Mingyu practically unconscious as Wonwoo supported him, having to use his foot to knock on the door of the town’s healer.

Her apprentice opened the door, ushering them in and taking Mingyu from Wonwoo. Mingyu remembered trying to protest at the separation, but found himself too exhausted to do so. The apprentice had tried to get Wonwoo to leave, but the healer had appeared as he did so, elderly but with a face like a hawk, barely glancing at Mingyu in favour of raking her eyes over Wonwoo, stood in the doorway pale faced and wide eyed.

“The boy stays,” she said, ignoring the splutters of her apprentice, busying herself with running her hands over Mingyu’s arm and removing his soaked clothes. “his presence will quicken the healing. They need to be well in time for harvest. Get him out of those clothes before he grows ill too.”

That was one of the only times Mingyu dared let himself hope. Hope that perhaps, there was something that connected himself to Wonwoo in a way other than Mingyu's hopeless devotion to him. 

 

On festival days minstrels would play in the town, and Mingyu would worry over making sure the younger ones were dressed properly, fretting over the modesty of his sisters, now that they were getting older and people in the village would talk. They’d meet at the crossroads, Mingyu’s sisters running ahead to meet with Wonwoo’s, linking arms and laughing. Wonwoo and Mingyu would always take up the back, watching to make sure no one fell behind. 

Usually Mingyu would've passed the baby to one of the older girls, strapped onto her back with Mingyu always finding himself watching to make sure it stayed that way. The next youngest would usually stay close to Mingyu, ready to be picked up after five minutes of walking. And Wonwoo’s smallest sister Youngmi was never happier than with Wonwoo. She’d learnt to walk holding Wonwoo and Mingyu’s hands, swinging her between them both, shrieking and giggling. 

They’d all scatter as soon as they got there and Mingyu would remain in a near panic the whole time they all remained out of his sight. He’d catch his breath from time to time as a brother would run past, only to lose it again as he looked over at Wonwoo brushing his hair out of his eyes, holding Youngmi in his arms and smiling as she babbled. 

Memories of the two of them both young and free of burdens always came during festivals, chasing each other through crowds, brightly coloured hanbok and music in the back of their ears. Now Wonwoo was older, quieter and weighed down by his mother’s illness and the wellbeing of his sisters. His hair was far longer, knotted back but perpetually falling into his eyes. His face was more angular now, brows seemingly permanently furrowed, bottom lip chapped from gnawing on it when he was anxious. Mingyu was rarely better, nails bitten down to the beds and permanent exhaustion always marring his face.

 

Oddly the time when they could both rest was when they found work. Many springs were spent many miles from home, on the farm of someone far wealthier than either of them could’ve ever dreamt to be, days spent in fields and collapsing at night, conditions too cramped to have to reason away the fact that they wrapped around each other when they slept. Their hands would be cracked and their skin would be bronzed, but smiles came easier and frowns less so.

It’s on one of these nights that Mingyu has a dream. It was only a few months before Wonwoo’s eighteenth birthday, and they’d both slept deeply, exhausted from the days work. It’s one he knew well, having had it recur over and over when he was younger. He’d lost it by the time his last siblings had been born, twins, two boys, when Mingyu was sixteen. When his mother had given out, leaving Mingyu alone to raise eleven younger siblings and to wait for his father to come back. But he hadn’t. Mingyu’d become too exhausted to dream after that.

It came back again, when they’d been ploughing fields all day, when Mingyu was so tired that Wonwoo had had to help him walk back from the river after they’d bathed, had to help him undress as his hands fell heavy at his sides. His sleep should've been solid, undisturbed and uneventful. 

But he woke, the sun still far from rising, sitting up and gasping, his hair stuck to his forehead and having to lean back against the wall, trying to catch his breath but finding himself unable to, lightheaded and shoulders heaving. 

His movement woke Wonwoo, and guilt collapsed onto him as he saw Wonwoo shift, the knowledge that he disturbed the others sleep making him feel ill.

“What’s happened?” Wonwoo had asked, sitting up and turning to look at Mingyu, rubbing at his eyes and only causing further turmoil in Mingyu. He pulled himself over to Mingyu, kneeling in front of him and waiting for him to answer, taking Mingyu’s hand in his own and running a calloused thumb over his wrist. 

“A dream,” Mingyu managed to choke out, trying to keep his voice hushed, shaking his head as he spoke. “nothing really. Go back to sleep hyung.”

Wonwoo remained looking unconvinced. It must've been his exhaustion but Mingyu found himself choking out what he had dreamt of, his emotions unguarded for once. 

“There's a long white avenue in my dreams that you're walking down. And you keep going. You don’t look back.” Even as he spoke the visions remained clear in his head, not blurring at the edges like every dream started to do shortly after waking. It remained clear and so much more gut wrenching because of it. “I call to you, and you just. Keep going. And once you’re gone from my sight I know I’ve lost you.”

To his credit, Wonwoo’s expression did not change. Mingyu did not realise he had been fearing Wonwoo's reaction until after he had spoke. It took a moment, but after it’d passed Wonwoo pulled Mingyu forward, Mingyu’s face pressed against his chest where Wonwoo’s heart beat against his cheek. Mingyu found himself leaning into it, focusing on the repeating sound as Wonwoo carved his fingers through Mingyu’s hair.

“You’ll never lose me Mingyu,” He tried to seek comfort from his words but he knew Wonwoo was wrong, that in only a few months Wonwoo would stop ageing until he found his soulmate, and it would all be different. “anyhow, where would I be going without you?”

Mingyu only burrowed further into Wonwoo’s chest, wrapping his arms around his chest and clutching at the fabric. He could feel Wonwoo had his mouth pressed to the top of his head, words muffled slightly as he spoke.

“Besides, if you were calling to me I’d have to look back. You’re so loud Gyu.” and at that Mingyu managed to puff out a laugh, feeling Wonwoo’s smile spread against the top of his head.

They slept curled tight around one another that night, Mingyu pressing his face into Wonwoo’s neck and Wonwoo’s arms tight around him, still holding him to his chest. The dream came back, as it did every night after that, but Mingyu didn't bring it up again. Only let the image burn into the back of the eyes, until each time he looked at Wonwoo he saw white light around him, and he felt an oncoming loss crush against his ribs until he feared they’d break.

 

The morning of Wonwoo’s eighteenth birthday, Mingyu woke feeling ill. He wasn't quite sure what had been happening when he woke feeling uncontrollably nauseas, only managed to stumble outside and hang his head over the pigsty to vomit. He kept going until his stomach was empty, until what was coming up was acid and made Mingyu’s eyes stream. 

The sun had barely come up, but Mingyu could see it beginning to edge the horizon with gold. The kids would be up soon. The twins had been up with colic for the past week, finally managing to sleep through the night only now. His next closest sister, Jeongae, had come back the night before, after having visited the Mudang that lived in the village over the Western Mountains. She’d been exhausted, but had grabbed at Mingyu’s arm before any of the younger ones had realised she was home. Her clutch was desperate, and her eyes had been wide and almost fearful, expression completely masked once their younger brother let out a cry, alerting the rest of them to her arrival.

She was the one who found Mingyu, sat on the porch with his head in his hands, looking out over the fields, imagining he could make out the shape of Wonwoo’s house through the grove of trees that separated their land.

“What of your fate?” Mingyu asked, recognising her footsteps before she sat down.

“They live in the far South,” she said, sitting down next to him, hair unbraided and loose down her back. She’d never managed to do it herself, Mingyu always doing it for her until their next sister had been old enough to learn. “a few years but nothing worth praying over. They’ll be kind and strong. Reliable, responsible. Seems like they’ll compliment me.”

“Good.”

“Oppa, it wasn't me the Mudang wanted us to pray for.”

Jeongae didn't turn to look at him as she spoke. She’d always been cool, collected, a level head when Mingyu couldn't bear the weight. But Mingyu knew her well. Her voice was as distant as ever, toneless almost, but when Mingyu glanced down he saw her hands were shaking. She balled them into fists as she continued. 

“She said it will be many lifetimes until you are free to be with your soulmate.”

 

A group of the local boys had hiked up the mountains once, many summers ago, to find the source of the river they loved so dearly. They’d come across a waterfall, stripping off their clothes and making bets about who could stand under it for the longest. Almost purely out of a desire to get a reaction from Wonwoo, Mingyu stood under the crushing water until he started to shiver, hands blue and skin raw from the pressure. The entirety of his skin felt frigid, the weight pummelling his head until he could barely hold it upright, vision gone, aching to his bones, lacking the ability to move until Wonwoo had swam into the pool, grabbing Mingyu’s ankles and pulling him from beneath the torrent, frozen, trembling, and gasping for air but unable to breathe. Wonwoo'd been so angry. He'd held Mingyu close but still Mingyu couldn't stop shaking.

It felt like that.

 

Mingyu wasn't sure if he’d replied. A noise of curiosity, of questioning, a broken kind of choked sound that would've had her clicking her tongue and scrunching her nose in sympathy. Either way she kept talking.

“I asked if that meant your soulmate wasn't going to be born for ages, but she just kept repeating it. You wouldn't be free to be with them. Orabeoni, she looked scared.”

“The Mudangs aren't always right Jeongae,” Mingyu managed to say this but couldn't stop his voice from breaking. “Don’t think any more of it.”

“But Mingyu it isn't fair,” and like everything Jeongae said she spoke it with full conviction, each word she said always balanced and true. “after everything you’ve done for us, you deserve-“

“We’ll speak no more of it,” Mingyu said, cutting Jeongae off and tone sharper than any he had ever used before. If Jeongae had been surprised she didn't show it. Only stood, turning to head back inside but not before placing a hand on Mingyu’s head, long fingers running down the length of his hair, a gesture of comfort that would've had Mingyu’s eyes filling with tears if it had lingered any longer. 

 

Wonwoo met him in the evening. The sun set late, and Mingyu was trying to chase his younger brothers into bed, against their protests that since the sun was still up so too they should be. But when they saw Wonwoo waiting at the edge of their land, on the dirt path that led up to the fields and onto the forest then onwards to the mountains, obviously waiting for Mingyu, they went inside with no complaint. Jeongae ushered them in, making eye contact with Mingyu that was meaningful in a way he didn't want to think about.

Normal greetings were exchanged once Mingyu caught up with Wonwoo, neither acknowledging the day or where they were headed. But even as they were walking Mingyu could feel a shift. Out of the corner of his eye he watched Wonwoo. Saw how his breaths had more time in between them, how his eyes were more focused but taking in less. His skin wasn't exactly paler, only it lacked the flush that would often grace Wonwoo’s cheeks. His eye bags seemed more pronounced than ever, dark rings under them. 

He could feel it too. The lack of vitality around Wonwoo. A stillness to him that was calming, but what was inherently unlike the Wonwoo that Mingyu knew and- cared for. The imminent feeling of loss descended upon Mingyu again, and he averted his eyes, focusing on the path as they walked.

They sat in the fields that evening, grass no longer hiding them under it’s height like it had done when they were young. The wind was light, moving the grass and bending it backwards, but Wonwoo was unyielding. The wind did not move him, and it was hard to believe anything would as Mingyu looked at him, back straight and face almost stoic, passive, every detail that Mingyu had known changed slightly, not only caught in time but stilled. 

 

They didn't speak of it that night, or the next, or the next. Apart from a passing comment, an answer to a neighbour’s question, or prying younger siblings who hadn't yet picked up on the situation, Wonwoo did not address it.

Neither did Mingyu, but each free moment he had was spent thinking of it. He knew he ought to feel lucky. Part of him had always hoped he wouldn't meet his soulmate for many years; he needed the extra time. Once he started ageing again he was far more susceptible to illness, to malnutrition, to _death_. Mingyu didn't have time to die. He had to feed his siblings, had to dress them and cajole them, teach them and encourage them, heal broken bones and soothe nightmares. He had to work, to earn money so they could enjoy themselves, so the girls could buy ribbon for their hair and the boys could buy pieces of wood carved into swords. This part of Mingyu was cold. It was vicious, immovable, with the goal of keeping his siblings alive and of nothing else. 

However another part of him had always dared to hope that Mingyu wouldn't stop ageing, that he’d pass by his eighteenth birthday just like any other, for he would've already met his soulmate. This part was suffocating under the weight of the Mudang’s prediction, and the burden of caring for his family that only increased in control over his life each day.

But this wasn't the only part that loved Wonwoo. Every part of Mingyu loved Wonwoo. 

 

Mingyu thought it would get easier to deal with, the knowledge that he wouldn't be with his soulmate for a length worthy of lifetimes. The knowledge that he wasn't meant to be with Wonwoo. That _someone else_ was Wonwoo’s soulmate. But it only got harder.

It ought to be a blessing. Mingyu had sworn to protect his family, and not only would this likely allow him to see even the twins to their eighteenth birthday, he’d likely see all of them united with their soulmates, see his nieces and nephews reach eighteen too. And from there, gods be willing, Mingyu would see them with their own soulmates, so on and so forth, watching over his family like he’d always done, all he’d ever known how to do. By the time Mingyu had met his soulmate surely his descendants would be able to help themselves. Be able to be healthy and safe, all Mingyu had ever wanted, had asked for - at least, all that Mingyu had meant to ask for. But in the silence of the temple, and the watchful stare of the gods, his private desires would come to light whether he intended them to or not. Whether he even knew of them or not.

Mingyu didn't know if he wanted to meet his soulmate. Even now he was sure each detail of them would be marred by the fact that they weren't Wonwoo. That he’d search for traces of Wonwoo in every inch of their face, as he did even now whilst looking at any figure that crossed his path. 

 

Nearing the end of the year Mingyu and Wonwoo found work again, further North, helping to finish the building of a summer home for some city official before the weather got too cold. The work was exhausting, the hours long and air cold, but they were fed and paid well, and at night Mingyu could let himself be held by Wonwoo under the reasoning that it was just extra body heat.

He knew that this would be the last time anything like this happened. Mingyu would reach eighteen years during Hansik, and they’d likely not find work before then. And after Mingyu stopped ageing he couldn't let himself be so close to Wonwoo. It’d be the final piece of evidence that he wasn't destined to be Wonwoo’s. The last shred of hope to be burnt. For the time being, he could fool the people around him into believing it may be so, that he may be so honoured to be Wonwoo’s. He wondered if Wonwoo thought it might be. If he hoped it might be. The idea felt stupid, that Wonwoo would even fathom that someone like Mingyu would be his soulmate. But, they were yet to have proof it would not to be so, so Mingyu acted like he normally would’ve, clingy and adoring. He hoped it wasn't as glaring and as obvious as it felt.

On their final night Wonwoo fell asleep quickly, seemingly exhausted after it all, wrapping Mingyu with his heavy limbs and holding Mingyu pressed to his chest. Mingyu’s face was pressed into the column of Wonwoo’s neck, his hand finding its way under the fabric of Wonwoo’s shirt and running up and down his skin. His pulse beat against Mingyu’s mouth. It was slower than it had previously been, but present nonetheless. 

“Please don’t leave me,” Mingyu choked out before letting the weight of sleep pull him down, words going into Wonwoo’s skin and breathing him in.

Wonwoo’s arms tightened around Mingyu, pressing their bodies as close together as possible. There’d been no change in his breathing at Mingyu’s words, no indication that he’d woken. Perhaps it was a reflex, to bring Mingyu closer to him with every word he said. As it had always been with Mingyu for Wonwoo.

His ribs felt too small for all that his heart grew when he thought of Wonwoo.

 

Looking back, the time passed rapidly. Barely anything. But to Mingyu, each day felt elongated to the point of discomfort. The knowledge that the days were counting down until he finally had to give up Wonwoo was crushing, each second feeling drawn out with the feeling of despair as they passed. He wished he could grab hold of them, stop them in their entirety, but if stopping the passage of time meant he was stuck in this period of uncertainty he wouldn't choose to do so.

There was a benefit to this. Mingyu tried to focus on the fact that this meant he could protect his family in the way he always prayed for, the way he always feared would fall on someone else. Part of him longed to spend this remaining time with Wonwoo, in innocence and without guilt, but another part wished to completely involve itself with his family. 

To fill his days with work to earn money to buy fabric so Dayeong could have a new Chima made after she tore hers climbing up a tree to return a baby bird to its nest, and to buy Hanbin a new pair of sandals after he lost one in the river, too excited to remember to take off his shoes. To know he could go without food and they could eat, knowing he would be kept alive even after going without meals for days at at time. To help his siblings achieve their goals and to find their soulmates. He needed to till the field, help harvest food, carry the barrels of kimchi for his sisters because they couldn't manage it on their own, to kill the animals because the rest of them were all too squeamish, and had never had to do it themselves. Maybe they’d finally be able to produce enough to sell. To see his sisters married and keep his brothers out of the army. To make sure that no matter what happened, invasions or uprisings alike, that they’d be safe. 

This was what got him through. Through the knowledge that he’d be without his soulmate for so long. The knowledge that Wonwoo, who’d had his heart since before Mingyu even knew what memory was, would love someone else. Wouldn't love Mingyu, and was promised to another soul. Mingyu had toyed with the idea of shutting Wonwoo out, of ignoring him completely if only to make the loss less painful. But even the fleeting image of it had bile rising in Mingyu’s throat, his muscles tensing and insides aching, Mingyu’s very body rejecting the concept. So Mingyu threw himself into his family, into his devotion to them, but each day passed with the feeling of a fist in his chest, wringing out his lungs and running claws down his heart.

 

The day almost came as a surprise. So many duties to the land and to the ancestors came with Hansik, which fell the day before Mingyu’s birthday. He’d only managed to get to bed long after the sun had set, remembering how Wonwoo had smiled when they saw each other briefly at the temple,  running his fingertips down Mingyu’s forearm as he passed him, so light Mingyu’s mind barely registered it. His body did, goosebumps forming and face heating. He dropped into a bow to cover his expression. He didn't think he got away with it. There was no fooling the Gods. Out of every being under the sun, it was only they who knew his heart. 

Sleep came easily, and Mingyu valued it, knowing from Wonwoo that he would find it difficult after he changed. The benefits to this had seemed clear to Mingyu, being able to work longer, keep up with his siblings, watch over them without fearing an error due to his own exhaustion. He'd ran through every benefit in his head before he could let the sting of being reminded of Wonwoo’s own state register.

Waking came abruptly as it always did. The sunlight brightened the room, and Mingyu could hear one of the twins stumbling towards where he lay. Mingyu’s arms preempted the action of the child throwing himself onto Mingyu’s chest, sitting up and holding the boy in his lap. He smiled and wrapped his arms around Mingyu’s neck as he stood, lifting the boy up to get him ready for the day before any of the rest of them woke. 

Mingyu ran through every sensation in his body. Nothing felt different. Mingyu’d assumed, _hoped_ even, that once he stopped ageing, so too his feelings for Wonwoo would stop. That he’d be reset, ready for his soulmate. Free. But even just the sound of Wonwoo’s name playing in his head had Mingyu tensing, and he knew that he had no such luck. Even now, his heart remained the same.

He tried not to dwell on it as he went through his tasks, like nothing had changed. He could tell his siblings were itching to ask questions, given that he was the first of them to reach eighteen, and Mingyu would've given them a rare scolding if they’d dared to bother Wonwoo or any of his sisters with their queries. But Jeongae had likely told them to give him some space, and she was far more frightening that Mingyu could be even when he tried.

It was only when Jeongae dragged them all off to an early bedtime, with minimum protesting even from the oldest and youngest, that Mingyu had to think about it. He felt, rather than saw, Wonwoo approaching. He waited at the edge of their land as he always did, and Mingyu, as he too always did, ran to meet him. 

 

They didn't walk as far as they did the night Wonwoo reached eighteen years, only just far enough from their land that Mingyu felt he could relax. They sat in the grass, Mingyu distracting himself by pulling out a blade and twisting it into knots. He didn't look at Wonwoo, not even when he spoke. 

“I don’t feel any different,” he said, trying not to let the days buildup of fear seep into his voice. “Hyung, I’m supposed to feel different right?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo said, Mingyu finally looking up at him. His cheeks were tinged pink as he refused to meet Mingyu’s eyes. Mingyu caught on the colour in Wonwoo’s complexion, trying not to let his puzzlement show on his face. He found his eyes unable to look away from Wonwoo, from how beautiful he looked in the dying light. He’d always struggled to breathe, just slightly, when he looked at Wonwoo.

“You should feel…low on energy. Like you need to use less. It’s almost like the world’s moving slower. Less tired, less hungry. Pain registers less, and if you get injured you’ll heal faster. Your breathing should feel more relaxed, infrequent, like you need less air. And your pulse, your heartbeat, it’s slower.”

“I don’t- I don't feel any of that hyung,” Mingyu said, trying not to let desperation into his voice, or into his appearance as he tried to get Wonwoo to look at him. “it’s as if nothing’s changed.”

Wonwoo didn't speak, only shifted so he was on his knees, leaning closer to Mingyu. From here Mingyu could make out the parting of Wonwoo’s lips, and the rapidness of his blinking. Still he refused to meet Mingyu’s eyes, only took Mingyu’s arm, pressing his fingers into the underside of Mingyu’s wrist. He hoped Wonwoo wouldn't pick up on the spike in Mingyu’s heart rate as he focused on the sensation of Wonwoo touching his skin.

“It’s normal,” Wonwoo finally said, not letting go of Mingyu’s arm. “we could go to the healer, she’d know for sure, but Mingyu it feels like- it seems like you’re still ageing.”

“Still ageing?” Mingyu repeated, trying not to sound as dumb as he felt. “Then I’ve already met them.”

Mingyu couldn't dull the hot flare of hope that burned into each distance of his body at the realisation. But it turned cold as he realised that Wonwoo obviously wasn't ageing, was still in his timeless state, otherwise he would've said something. And Wonwoo dropped Mingyu’s hand, sitting back and looking impossibly still. It wasn't Mingyu who was going to live longer than Wonwoo, it was Mingyu who was to resume ageing first. To die first. The Mudang must’ve been wrong.

“A girl in the village maybe,” Wonwoo said, and he still. Wouldn’t look at Mingyu. “you can go tomorrow morning and check.”

“I’d hoped- it would be longer,” Mingyu choked out, finally able to vocalise his thoughts of the past few months, at least in part. “when Jeongae saw the Mudang, I thought I’d have a lot of time. I’d been so happy. I could see them all grow up, take care of them, be there for them. But now- now I don’t know what I’ll do.”

“Wonwoo, hyung, please,” Mingyu said, leaning in towards Wonwoo, who finally dragged his eyes to Mingyu’s face. Mingyu tried not to let the shake in his voice slow him down. “promise me you’ll do it. I don’t know how much longer you have, but it’ll at least be more than I do. Help them, feed them, protect them. For however long you can. I know it’s a lot to ask-“

“Of course,” Wonwoo said, reaching up to place a hand against Mingyu’s cheek. “I would be honoured. And I know you would do the same for me.”

“Always,” Mingyu said, and the word seemed to do something to Wonwoo. He stood abruptly, the absence of warmth on the skin of Mingyu’s cheek stinging as if Wonwoo had struck him. Wonwoo said nothing, turned and walked away, leaving Mingyu sat there with the oddest urge to cry.

 

Mingyu couldn't bring himself to go into the town the next day like Wonwoo suggested. He busied himself, fixing things around the house, watching the younger ones, and sending the older ones to the market in his stead. A sense of deep regret had filled Mingyu, now being faced with the fact that he wouldn't be there to help his siblings in the way he so desperately hope, but also in how it was confirmed that Wonwoo was destined for someone else. Yet the fact Mingyu would die before Wonwoo, and Mingyu would likely never have to live in a world without him was a painful blessing, but a blessing nonetheless. Heartbroken didn't feel like a word he could use to describe his feelings about never being with Wonwoo. Wonwoo was his heart, and Wonwoo wasn't the one feeling like this. Maybe it was his soul that had been broken.

Once again Wonwoo came to him just as the sun began to make its way behind the mountains. Mingyu only had to look at Jeongae for her to nod, taking their younger sister from Mingyu’s arms without saying anything. By the time Mingyu had made his way over to Wonwoo he’d already started walking, pace quick, Mingyu struggling to keep up as Wonwoo didn't speak, didn't look at Mingyu. Mingyu followed Wonwoo, who brought them to the very edge of the field, where the forest began to lead up to the mountains, as far from anyone else as they could get without entering the forest.

Wonwoo sat down, leaning back on his hands, motioning with his head for Mingyu to do the same. He observed Mingyu for a moment, who only sat there as Wonwoo reached into his sleeve, pulling something out and laying it out onto the grass. 

It was a dagger, unsheathed, the handle ornate and metal polished. It sat there, gleaming up at Mingyu. He couldn't draw his eyes away, not even as Wonwoo began to speak. 

“You wanted more time,” he said, voice free of intonation, sending something crawling down Mingyu’s spine. “and you’ll have it. You’ll hear the twins learn to speak. You’ll meet Hanbin’s long suffering soulmate. You’ll earn enough for Hyejin to train as a dancer like she’s always wanted, and for Dayeong to become a healer. You’ll see them meet their soulmates, and see their children. See your nieces and nephews. See their soulmates. Keep going.”

“Hyung,” Mingyu said, voice cracking and trying to hold onto his confusion. “I’m ageing, I’ll not see any of this, I don’t understand. I ought to have gone to town, tried to find out who it is, but-“

“It’s me.”

Mingyu could feel the moment his blood turned to acid.

“Of course it’s me Mingyu. I woke up yesterday, and I knew right away. I know we’re told to wait, to check, but of course it would be you. It’s always been you.”

“No, Wonwoo, you’ve made some kind of mistake-“ 

Wonwoo reached for Mingyu’s hand, placing it underneath his shirt, on top of his chest. Wonwoo’s skin was hot, and he could feel the rapid beat of Wonwoo’s heart underneath. Mingyu’s eyes travelled over Wonwoo’s face, making out the flush that was rising over his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His eyes seemed brighter, and his tongue darted out to run over his lips. He swallowed hard.

“It’s me Mingyu. I always knew it would be.” 

“But you don’t…you deserve someone else.”

“I wouldn't want someone else, anyone else,” Wonwoo said, leaning in and running a finger over Mingyu’s cheek. “and since it’s me, it’ll all be okay.”

“What do you mean by okay?” Mingyu asked, still trying to wrap his head around everything that’d happened. Wonwoo was his soulmate. Mingyu’s soulmate. Mingyu couldn't even fathom how such a thing could be possible, how the gods could have given him so much, given him someone as perfect as _Wonwoo_.

“If it’d been anyone else, they wouldn't know you so well,” Wonwoo said, smiling wide as he spoke. “wouldn’t love you as much as I do. Would never do this for you.”

“Hyung what’re you talking about?”

“It’s reincarnation isn't it Mingyu?” Wonwoo said, placing a hand in Mingyu’s hair. “All of our past selves have been together. All of our future selves will be together. If you’d drowned any of those times in the river when we were children, if I hadn't been there every time you'd been a fool and risked your life, I would've had to wait longer, but I would've met you again eventually.”

“Hyung-“

“And since you’ve only just turned eighteen, if I died now, you’d go back to not ageing.”

“Wonwoo, please-“

“You could look after your family. You’ll have to look after mine too though. But you can just wait until you meet me again, be with me then. It’s all the same. It’ll still be me. We'll be the same two souls. Or if it’s too early, if you still need more time, start it again. Kill them. Kill me again. Give yourself more time.”

“Wonwoo,” Mingyu said, reaching forward and grabbing Wonwoo’s hands. “please, you’re not making any sense.”

“Kill me. I give you permission.”

“Wonwoo, that’s insane. The next incarnate, it won’t be you, it’d be different, I wouldn't be their intended.”

“Mingyu, it’ll always be you.”

“But what if, next time, you don’t love me?”

“I’ll _always_ love you.”

“I won’t do it Wonwoo. Kill me, kill me instead, let me be the one to die.”

“It has to be you. Your siblings are far younger, and there’s more of them. Some of my sisters are older, they’ll manage. But you must protect them too. As though they’re your family.”

“They’ve always been my family. They're part of you, so they're a part of me. But Wonwoo-“

“Be a guardian of sorts. Didn't you always want that? To be a protector?”

“To protect _you_.”

“You can do that by doing this.” Wonwoo had picked up the dagger now, spinning it in his hands. 

“Even your death in concept is enough to feel as though I'm dying. For it to happen, to do it myself-“

“I’ve always been the one looking out for you. You can do this for me. Watch over my sisters and their descendants as you watch over yours. Keep it going for as long as you need.”

“I won’t live in a world without you.”

“You can. You will.”

“Your sisters, they’d be devastated, how would we explain it?”

“Tell them I killed myself. That I loved you too much to see you be the soulmate of anyone else. They’d believe it. They know I love you enough to do it.”

“Hyung, stop,” Mingyu said, leaning forward and grabbing the dagger out of Wonwoo’s hands. “you need to think, you’re not talking sense.”

“I’ve thought it through, this isn't a spur of the moment decision. I knew as soon as I woke yesterday that I was ageing again, knowing you’d kept ageing only confirmed it. You made me feel alive again Mingyu. And now I need to die.”

“You don’t need to do anything, hyung, _please_ -“

“Youngmi won't sleep unless you sing to her,” Wonwoo said, removing the amulet from his neck, leaning forward and looping it over Mingyu’s head. “Jihye can’t go to the temple on her own, the statues scare her. The rest you can get from my older sisters.”

“But Wonwoo, I love you-“

Wonwoo cut Mingyu off, leaning in and pressing his lips to Mingyu’s. It was brief, chaste, barely any contact, but the touch had Mingyu reeling, distracted, only for a second. 

He barely noticed how Wonwoo had turned the dagger Mingyu had been holding to face himself, how Wonwoo gripped Mingyu’s forearm and drove the dagger into his own chest.

Wonwoo’s mouth parted into a tiny circle, eyes widening only slightly, before he leant back, collapsed onto the grass. Already blood had begun to spurt out, so much blood, coating the front of Wonwoo’s clothes and soaking them through. 

Mingyu’s mind couldn't register what’d happened. He sat there, frozen, only reacting when Wonwoo’s shaking hand leant up and pulled the dagger out, dropping it onto the grass next to him. Mingyu managed to crawl over, resting Wonwoo’s head onto his knees, Wonwoo grabbing Mingyu’s hand and clutching it tight.

“For as long as you need,” Wonwoo choked, blood beginning to come out of his mouth. “keep going. Please.”

“Wonwoo, hyung, stop it, don’t do this. They won’t be you, how could I ever love someone who isn't you?”

“Be easier to kill them then.”

“I can't live, I won’t live without you,” Mingyu babbled, running has hands over and over through Wonwoo’s hair, pulling him into himself, holding him, not realising he was crying until he saw his own tears falling onto Wonwoo’s face.

“You have to.” Wonwoo said, breathing shallow, face ashen, eyes never leaving Mingyu. “Be kind, Kim Mingyu.”

“What’s the point in being kind, nothing is worth anything without you Wonwoo. Nothing’ll ever come to any good, I could live if everything else was gone but not you, Wonwoo, please-“

“I love you,” Wonwoo choked again, body jerking, hand gripping tight onto Mingyu, eyes staring up at him. “in every life.”

 

The night was beautiful. The clouds were all different colours, pink, purple, each tinged with gold. The sky was blue, hazy overhead. The wind was light, blowing through the tall grass, cool and balmy over what would soon grow to be summer heat. The mountains were strong, imposing as ever, a backdrop to the vista that seemed to stretch on now forever. Wonwoo had always loved the mountains.

He was still now, in Mingyu’s arms. His eyes were closed, face ashen, body stiff and covered in blood. Distantly, Mingyu registered that he too was covered in blood. He’d often heard that people looked like they were sleeping when they died. His mother had looked like that. Wonwoo’s mother too. Wonwoo didn't look like that. When he slept his brows were furrowed, as though he was worried, stressed even in sleep. But now he seemed calm. Peaceful. 

 

Mingyu pulled the body close to his chest, and screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. that was that. leave a comment if u want, again almost all written at four in the morning, i hope it makes sense?? if u have any questions hmu, ty for reading!!


	15. chapter fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here we are folks. kate bush references came out of nowhere, also sorry if i offend anyone from edinburgh (no im not #westcoastbestcoast) im also very belatedly telling u i've been listening to the same dozen songs while writing this whole thing so i'll give u guys the link jsut in case u want to feel the vibes http://suan.fm/mix/iAWhsJx enjoy!!!!

It’s tentative. Not in the relationship aspect. That came easily, far too easily. Loving one another, there was no difficulty to it. Wonwoo didn’t think there was any other way he could've felt about Mingyu. Wonwoo would forget, for hours, that there was anything different about the two of them, about their relationship compared to anyone else’s. And then it would creep back into him, the knowledge that they were soulmates, knowledge of what Mingyu had done, what had failed to be done. But then Wonwoo would feel his heart pounding again, see a flush in Mingyu’s cheeks, see him smiling openmouthed, teeth pointed and eyes crescents, and when he’s been drinking too much Wonwoo thinks that to die would feel a little bit like this. 

And Mingyu’s a good person. A good friend. A good boyfriend. They text, something which Mingyu still finds amusing, peppering messages with emoticons that have no relevance except that he thought it was cool. They’ve not said anything to their friends, but Wonwoo’s ran into Soonyoung and Seungcheol in Mingyu’s apartment enough times for some kind of conclusion to be drawn, and Jun, like always, seemed to have figured it out.

 

They’d come home early. Mingyu’d been tired, something which he was vaguely shocked by, having gone so long in his previous state. Wonwoo knew chills ought to have gone down his spine, he ought to be disgusted, made uncomfortable, but the full belly laugh that came as a reaction set him up to feel otherwise, teasing Mingyu, letting him rest his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder and persuading him into coming home. Despite Mingyu’s protests, not wanting to end Wonwoo’s night prematurely, Wonwoo convinced him otherwise. He’d rather be lying in bed with Mingyu than drunk out of his mind, pressed against foreign bodies with his tinnitus acting up. Of course, out and drinking _with_ Mingyu was an ideal night, but Mingyu’s drooping eyes and enhanced clinginess had Wonwoo bundling him home with a stern look and an arm around his waist.

It was just after one when they got back to Wonwoo’s flat. Wonwoo barely even managed to strip them both of their jackets and shoes before Mingyu’s whining set in. Wonwoo ignored him, making his way to the kitchen area, Mingyu hooking his arms around Wonwoo’s waist as he does his best to make them both tea. It’s a difficult task, with Mingyu pressing his face into the back of Wonwoo’s neck and sighing every time Wonwoo moved.

“You should've told me you were getting tired,” Wonwoo said, over the sound of the kettle boiling. 

“I need to keep up my tough and manly persona,” Mingyu said, leaning his face against the column of Wonwoo’s neck.

“You’re allowed to be weak Gyu,” Wonwoo said, trying not to laugh at Mingyu’s indignant groan, pouring the kettle. “you’re an old man but you don’t need to have such old fashioned ideas.”

“Me?” Mingyu said, laughing, and Wonwoo tried not to pour boiling water on himself. “You were always the conservative one. Used to have me and my brothers escort your sisters everywhere when you were too busy. Wouldn't let them down to the village without their faces veiled.”

“And you were the more modern one?” Wonwoo retorted, dropping the teabags into the pot and waiting for them to seep out. “I’m ahead of you now though.”

“Yeah,” Mingyu said, humming in agreement and tightening his grip around Wonwoo’s waist. “it’s still all a bit overwhelming. First time I properly spoke to you you were grinding on me in a club. I almost had a stroke.”

They both started laughing at that, Mingyu following after Wonwoo. Mingyu was still giggling as Wonwoo poured the tea, still some leftover in the pot that he’d leave, since Mingyu always drank his too quickly and got sad when it was finished.

Mingyu stopped laughing though, when Wonwoo turned and they both saw they weren't alone. The TV was on, bright and in Mandarin, the shadow of Jun curled up on an armchair. He hadn't said anything when they’d come in, and the lights were off. A few weeks ago Wonwoo would've assumed he’d been sleeping, but now, he thought differently. It’d likely been days since Jun last slept. And before that it’d have been even longer. 

Mingyu straightened up, pressing the mugs into Wonwoo’s hands and nudging him towards Jun, turning and fixing another cup for himself, intending his for Jun now. They took their tea the same way.

 

Wonwoo sat down on the sofa, turning to face Jun. He still didn't react, not until Wonwoo nudged against his arm with the mug, turning and looking at Wonwoo. He bared his teeth, more of a grimace than a grin, and accepted the mug but turned back to the TV, smile dropping from his face quickly.

“Bit late isn't it Jun?” Wonwoo asked, sipping his tea, adjusting his weight as Mingyu sat down next to him so he could lean against him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jun said, eyes glued to the television. His skin was almost translucent, his face looking gaunt and angular in the odd light cast by the screen. He held the mug tight between his hands, but hadn't yet drank from it. “and the show is interesting.”

“Ming dynasty ceramics?” Mingyu asked, and Wonwoo resisted the urge to elbow Mingyu in the side at the sight of Jun’s flinch. Jun didn't answer, tilted his head downwards in what might've been a nod, and they watched in silence for a moment

“So you’re soulmates,” Jun said, turning to look at them both, as an advert break came on. “it rather feels like I’ve been watching a forest fire, and now I’m finally seeing it die out. Or I’ve come to the end of a book that’s entirely too long.”

“Like a Bronte novel?” Wonwoo asked, dodging Mingyu’s reaction. “A fire you say?”

“I ought to, but you two have never been that exciting,” Jun said, shifting where he sat. “a typhoon maybe.”

“Are typhoons exciting, in your experience?” Mingyu asked, and again Wonwoo wanted to sigh deeply as a pained expression came across Jun’s face.

“Not particularly,” Jun replied, turning back to the TV. “but typhoons come back. I know this is over now, I have that assurance.”

Wonwoo’d been drinking at that moment, and opted for a questioning noise that he knew Mingyu would've understood, and hoped Jun would too.

“Well it’s done now isn't it?” Jun said, glancing back at the pair. “No going back.”

“I don’t think Wonwoo’s following Junhui,” Mingyu said, eyes lowered to his tea.

“The nature of Mingyu’s previous…arrangement,” Jun started, tilting his mug to and fro so the liquid came close to the edge. “it’s null now. He’s ageing again, and the window he had to stop it again has passed. Both in time and in his feelings.”

“His feelings.” Wonwoo repeated.

“The way that he’s come to care for you…” Jun said, making eye contact with Mingyu. “it means that if you were to die he’d keep ageing. You’re both safe from him Wonwoo, and stuck with him. The same goes for you, Mingyu. No going back. It’s all good and settled.”

“I see,” Wonwoo said, looking back as the show came back on the TV and trying to wrap his head around everything, leaning his head into the crook of Mingyu’s neck, his shoulders relaxing as Wonwoo did so.

 

The three of them stayed quiet as the show continued to play, Wonwoo’s grip on the language lessening as time went on. He found himself watching Jun instead, how his eyes seemed to have glazed over, how his breathing was slow and how his cup had remained full. His eyes were sunken and bruised, his lips chapped and almost the same colour as his skin, and his hands were skeletal, both hands having to hold the cup as he leant forward to place it on the coffee table.

“I don’t know if I can keep going,” Jun finally said, as the television showed scrolls and paintings of the Emperor’s court. Mingyu had gone rigid next to Wonwoo. “keep waiting.”

“Jun, you’re not making much sense.”

“I am though,” he said, still almost refusing to look away from the TV. “this is what I should’ve done in the first place, instead of holding on for so long. I’ve felt like this before, but it’s gone on for so long. I’m more sure. I can’t keep going.”

“Junhui, please, you’ve thought about this before but it’s always passed-“

“It shouldn't have passed,” Jun said, voice raising but still quiet. “if I’d died years ago, I’d have reincarnated. He’d have reincarnated. We’d be together by now, maybe would've been together dozens of times. And even if he doesn’t, if I've lost him for good, at least I won’t have to deal with this. The next one will.”

“Jun, you don’t know that. You said you stopped checking years ago, who knows, in the time that’s passed he might’ve-“

“I’ve lost him,” Jun said, cutting the words off, conviction in each syllable. He still looked at the television, but his eyes were unseeing. “he’s not coming back. He’s gone. I can’t keep going, not if there’s no chance I’ll see him again. It’s the only thing that got me up in the morning. But any hope that I had, it’s gone now. I can’t keep doing this.”

Wonwoo didn't have anything to say. He couldn't live with the thought of Jun, his friend, his dearest friend, dying, but there were no words of comfort that Wonwoo could utter to lessen Jun’s torment. He turned to look up at Mingyu, but his expression was pained as he stared down at his lap.

“You see the same faces on different people, over the years. It is with love that I say I wish to never see yours again.”

“We’ll talk more in the morning,” Wonwoo said, standing and trying not to register the way Mingyu’s body shifted to follow Wonwoo’s as he stood. He gathered up the mugs, Jun’s still full. “try and get some sleep Jun. Please.”

“I’ll finish this show,” Jun said, leaning back, his face settling into the blank expression that it’d taken on these past few weeks. Wonwoo knew he’d find him in the same position the next morning.

Wonwoo nudged Mingyu into standing, and they got ready for bed in silence. Mingyu barely even breathed, and kept his distance from Wonwoo until they got into bed together. The minute they both lay down, Mingyu edged forward, wrapping both arms around Wonwoo and pulling him close against his chest, pressing his face down on top of Wonwoo’s head, wrapping their legs together and clasping his hands behind Wonwoo’s back.

They often slept close to one another, waking in a tangle with skin pressed against skin. But some nights, Mingyu would do this, would pull Wonwoo so close to him it would've been uncomfortable had it been anyone else. But this was Mingyu, and despite the fact that Wonwoo had found himself acting the more mature of the two, sometimes Mingyu would hold Wonwoo so desperately, so fiercely. And Wonwoo let himself be held, be clutched at and embraced, because sometimes Wonwoo’d wake up in the middle of the night and hear Mingyu crying, and he’d close his eyes and pretend to be asleep as he felt his heart breaking.

 

“I’m just saying, I think it’d be cute,” Wonwoo repeated, as Mingyu swung their joined hands between them. It’d been snowing earlier, but it was raining lightly now, making the air seem fuzzy under the orange streetlights.

“But it hurts hyung, and tattoos are forever,” Mingyu said, and even as Wonwoo focused on the ground in front of them to ensure Mingyu wasn't about to slip due to his distraction, Wonwoo knew the other was pouting. “are you sure you’d want one with me?”

“Mingyu, you’re my soulmate, who else would I get one with?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “And we can talk about it later, I just thought I’d suggest it. If you don’t want to it’s okay-“

“No I do!” Mingyu said, pulling Wonwoo’s hand, and therefor Wonwoo himself, closer to him. “It was just if you didn’t.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“I’ve always liked quotes,” Mingyu mused. “it was hard to decide on the ones I have, out of all the ones I like.”

“I’d say I could get one from Wuthering Heights too, to save you from getting another one, but the idea of having something written by a Brontë on my body forever makes me nauseous-“

“Hey,” Mingyu said, knocking his shoulder into Wonwoo’s with no real force. “say what you like about the book, the language is nice.”

“You’re right,” Wonwoo conceded, “but you even if you cover dog shit in glitter, it’s still dog shit.”

Mingyu did use force that time.

“Maybe mountains,” Wonwoo went on, after tousling with Mingyu and trying not to slip on the ice and crack both their heads open, ignoring passersby. “I always liked the mountains in Changwon. Not enough to get a tattoo of them of my own accord, but enough that I’ll get one to match with you.”

“You’re so cute hyung,” Mingyu said, leaning over to pinch Wonwoo’s cheek. He’d done this enough times that Wonwoo knew not to resist. “even though you have no taste.”

“I can’t deny that. I’m dating you after all.”

Mingyu made to tackle Wonwoo again, Mingyu’s laughter echoing through the street, along with his breathless and terrible rendition of Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush, only heightening Mingyu’s drive.

“I saw Kate Bush in concert you know,” Mingyu said, hand back in Wonwoo’s. “in Edinburgh. Didn't much like the city. No character.”

“Stop trying to distract from the fact that she last toured in 1979, and you’re an old man Mingyu. Where’re we going anyway?”

“It’s complicated,” Mingyu said, slowing slightly, hand slipping from Wonwoo’s grasp. “There’re some things I meant to tell you before we got there but I forgot to do it before we left. Not to mention we got a bit distracted, if you remember.”

 

“Your youngest sister, Young-mi. She was almost five when you…died. She adored you, would follow us about and couldn’t sleep until you got home in the evenings. It took her a while to find her soulmate, he was a lot younger than her. Anyway, she had a few children, and her youngest daughter had a grandson, his name was Youngnam. And his grandson lived during the Japanese occupation, so his name was Hiroshi. And he had a daughter, Youngae. And she was born in 1947.”

“And when she was a year old she became a citizen of the Democratic People’s Republic of Korea.” Wonwoo could see Mingyu’s hands were shaking and reached out to take one in his own, no thought in the action. “It’s been almost seventy years, but last year I managed to get every surviving relative of yours out of the country, and to the South. She was the last.” 

“Out of the country?” Wonwoo said numbly, already his mind overwhelmed. He’d often hear about it on the news, how dangerous it was to get someone out of the North, and after that how hard it was to get them out of China. How expensive it was to grant them asylum. And Mingyu had been doing this for the family of one incarnation of his soulmate, from centuries ago. “What of your family?”

“They fled to the South at the beginning of the war, whatever ones hadn’t moved there already. Most of yours did too but I didn’t manage to get to all of them.” Even now, Wonwoo could see how Mingyu had his jaw clenched tight.

“You helped them?”

“I’ve not done much,” Mingyu said, eyes widening, almost trying to convince Wonwoo that Mingyu had had a small role in this. “Just stayed near the border so they wouldn’t get trafficked and payed the brokers to take them into Mongolia. Made sure they didn’t get sent back.”

“Why?”

“It’s why we did it wasn’t it? What we agreed.” Mingyu said, staring resolutely at the pavement. “I’d look after your family until they would be alright on their own. And they finally are.”

Wonwoo didn’t know what to say. Through all of their misfortunes of their country, the caste system, the occupation, and the division, the famines and labour camps. Mingyu had protected their families. Wonwoo’s family. The family that Wonwoo didn’t remember, that no incarnation would remember, on no other duty than a promise Mingyu had made centuries ago. 

“Anyway,” Mingyu said, trying to lift his tone. “to sum it up, Youngae’s grandfather was the grandson of your niece, the daughter of your youngest sister. And she was the last one left there, the last girl I got out. I say girl, she’s seventy, but her soulmate wasn’t in the North. She’s been adapting here for a while, getting settled a bit, and she’s going to university in Canada in a few months. So I thought, maybe, you’d like to meet her?”

Wonwoo didn’t trust himself to speak, just nodded. His heart stammered at how big a smile Mingyu broke into as they started to walk again.

“To tell you the truth, when I first saw her I almost cried. Somehow, she looks exactly like your sister.”

 

They pushed into the cafe, which was more crowded than Wonwoo would expect for an evening so dismal as this one. Wonwoo could feel how Mingyu’s weight shifted in the direction of a girl sat with her back to them, sat at a table against the wall, her head tilted downwards and long hair spilling over the back of the chair. 

“I’ll order, you go to her,” Wonwoo said, pressing a hand to the small of Mingyu’s back, watching him amble over and touch Youngae lightly on the shoulder. Wonwoo saw how she flinched slightly. But she stood, flinging her arms around Mingyu and speaking rapidly to him, turning to look at where Wonwoo was waiting in the queue, beaming. 

“Horrible weather isn't it?” was what the barista said, drawing Wonwoo’s attention away from Mingyu. 

“Could be worse,” Wonwoo said, earning a hum of agreement from the server. He stuck his tongue out as he worked the cash register, and had shadows where his eyes should be. _Myungho_  was what his name tag read. From the accent and the obviously adapted name Wonwoo guessed he was a foreign student, and he smiled as he dropped the change into the tips jar.

“Are you working till late?” Wonwoo said, speaking Mandarin on instinct but tentative in case he was wrong. The boy’s, Myungho’s, eyes lit up, his shoulders relaxing, bracing his arms against the counter and resting his head on his hands.

“Till we close,” Myungho replied, and Wonwoo clicked his tongue in sympathy, leaning against the counter as he waited for his order. “I just started and my hours are all over the place. It’s been good though, and there’s never enough people for me to have to write down people’s names. I’d never manage to spell them right.”

“That sucks,” Wonwoo said, taking the mugs from where Myungho slid them over the counter, adding the sugar to his. “do you at least get free pastries?”

“I do but I never get to eat them,” Myungho said, groaning again. “my dance instructor put me on a diet. I bring them to practice though and everyone else seems to like them.”

“That sucks,” Wonwoo repeated, with even more feeling. “only a few more hours though. Good luck.”

Myungho smiled back at Wonwoo, straightening up as another customer came through the door.

 

Wonwoo made his way over to where Mingyu was speaking quietly to Youngae, slowly so as to not spill anything. Mingyu looked up as Wonwoo came over, grinning, taking the mug from where Wonwoo placed it down in front of him. Wonwoo sat down next to him, wrapping one hand around his mug to steal some of the warmth, Mingyu placing his hand on top of where Wonwoo’s was resting on top of the table. 

“Wonwoo, this is Youngae, Youngae this is Wonwoo.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said, smiling and nodding at him, not making to shake his hand, which Wonwoo was oddly grateful for, as if he used his left he’d have to remove it from the warmth of his coffee cup, and if he used his right it would mean going without physically touching Mingyu when there was no reason for him to not be. 

“Likewise,” Wonwoo said, glancing over at Mingyu and rolling his eyes at how he burnt his tongue on the coffee. 

For the rest of the evening Wonwoo mainly watched the two of them make conversation. He alternated between looking at Mingyu and looking at Youngae. Mingyu because that was just something inherent within Wonwoo, to be looking at Mingyu, but Youngae because there was something in her that was shifting the back of Wonwoo’s throat and the bottom his stomach.

When she smiled her nose spread out, like how his cousin Jiwoo’s did when she laughed too hard, how Somi’s did when she found something disgusting, like how his father’s did when he was angry. She raised her hand to cover her mouth as she laughed, something his mother did, the dimple in her left cheek was a mirror of his cousin Jungkook, and the way her little finger was separated slightly from the rest of them like his brother's fingers had always done wasn't unsettling, but wasn't wholly comfortable either. 

As the conversation began to die down Wonwoo realised he’d barely spoken, and hoped Youngae hadn't thought him rude. But as he looked over at her he found her to be smiling widely at him, and mirrored the gesture back at her. Her eyes widened slightly, before narrowing back into the smile, turning to look at Mingyu and sharing a look of understanding with him.

“I have some things that belong to you,” she said to Mingyu, turning to rummage in her bag. Her way of speaking was odd, not stilted exactly but formal, because of her age or her upbringing Wonwoo wasn't exactly sure. Her accent was different too, but given that Wonwoo himself had grown up speaking a dialect that wasn't always understood in Seoul, the fact made him smile.

She pulled something out of her bag, placing it on the table, Mingyu immediately picking it up and holding it his hands. From what Wonwoo could see, it was an amulet, round and heavy, amber coloured with an engraving. 

“The latch was replaced but the original chain was kept. The man said it ought to last for good now, and if it breaks again to let him know. I doubt it will, but I can give you his address if you want…”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Mingyu said, still looking down at where the amulet was held in his hands, running his thumb over the smooth surface. “I’ll message you if I need it, assuming you’ve got the hang of your phone?”

“Just about,” Youngae said, flushing slightly. Wonwoo laughed, and Mingyu turned to look at Wonwoo, face oddly blank.

“This was yours,” he said quietly, even though Youngae could probably still hear him. “you gave it to me but if you want it back-“

“No,” Wonwoo said, reaching over and pressing Mingyu’s fingers closed over the amulet. “I gave it to you.”

Mingyu’s smile was so small and so sad that Wonwoo would’ve leant over to kiss him if Youngae hadn't produced another one of Mingyu’s belongings from her handbag. It was a book, and she pushed it towards Mingyu with a grin.

“I enjoyed it, though likely not as much as you,” she said, grinning. The book was in terrible condition. The pages were bent and yellowed, the spine was cracked, and as Mingyu took it, running his thumb down the side and flicking the pages quickly, Mingyu could make out the scratchings of annotations on the pages. “I knew you loved the book oppa, but did you really have to copy out every single quote you liked?”

Mingyu turned red, hiding his face behind the book. Wonwoo could make out the cover from there. Wuthering Heights. Wonwoo didn't know what else he’d expected.

“Those are good quotes,” Mingyu said shyly, and Youngae laughed, nodding her head in agreement, taking the book back from Mingyu’s hands and flicking to the blank pages at the back of the novel that Wonwoo had always thought to be useless.

“I quite liked this one,” she said, running her finger over where the ink had faded over the years, leading Wonwoo to wonder how old the book actually was. “a bit dramatic I thought, but lovely all the same.”

She held the book out to Wonwoo, who took it, grip gentle on the terrifyingly thin pages. He could see the indents in the paper from where Mingyu had pressed too hard with his pen, the entire page filled with his scrawl that Wonwoo had trouble deciphering from a shopping list, let alone a hundred year old novel. 

“This one?” Wonwoo asked, copying Youngae’s action in tracing the words on the page.

“The one that looks as though he carved it into the page with a dagger.”

 

_“If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger.”_

 

Wonwoo couldn't speak for a moment. Youngae said something, to which Mingyu replied, making her laugh. As he did so, he reached for Wonwoo’s hand under the table, clasping it tightly. Wonwoo knew he ought to act in a way of reassurance, squeeze Mingyu’s hand or something of the sort, but he couldn't bring himself to move, only allowed his hand to be held. He realised belatedly that Mingyu may not have been seeking to receive comfort, but to give it.

Youngae stood, and so too did Mingyu and Wonwoo, their hands remaining joined. Wonwoo caught Youngae looking at their hands, and smiling. She met Wonwoo’s eyes, and her gaze was soft and warm. A rush of affection came upon Wonwoo and it lingered as Mingyu let go of Wonwoo’s hands to hug the girl standing before them. Wonwoo watched them both, focussing more on Youngae, and when they separated he found himself stepping to meet her.

Youngae was small, and Wonwoo bent his head down to press it to the top of her head. She barely touched his chin, and something akin to protectiveness crawled its way into Wonwoo’s torso. Youngae stepped back, tilting her head to look up at him, her smile wide and eyes narrowed and bright. When Wonwoo turned to look at Mingyu he found him to be watching them, smiling but in a way Wonwoo had learnt didn't convey happiness.

The three of them walked out together, Wonwoo raising his hand in a half wave to Myungho, who waved back. Mingyu’s eyes caught on the other boy for a moment, lingering until Youngae looked back at him, Wonwoo holding the door open for him expectantly.

 

Once outside, they went their separate ways, Youngae towards her apartment and Mingyu and Wonwoo to the subway station. Wonwoo’s apartment was only two stops away, and any other day it would've been quicker to walk home, but Mingyu was tired, and the weather was making them both lazy. 

They pressed close to each other as they walked, each pensive in their own way, the glow of amber from the streetlights making Mingyu seem golden each time Wonwoo spared a glance at him. Wonwoo could feel the hard outline of the novel in the inside pocket of Mingyu’s jacket from how close they were standing to each other. 

The burst of warm air came over the two of them as they walked into the station, each scanning their train passes, hands still joined, lifting them over the turnstile and pulling close to one another once more. Once they reached the escalator, Mingyu moved down an extra step, turning to press his face into Wonwoo’s chest and wrapping his arms around Wonwoo’s waist. 

Wonwoo had always been the type to run, or at least walk down an escalator, but Mingyu had been appalled at that. ‘In my day,’ he’d said, ‘we had to walk down all of our stairs. You ought to be grateful, Jeon Wonwoo’. After his laughter subsided, Wonwoo watched as how Mingyu’s hurt expression turned into a vaguely giddy happiness, as he stood still on the stairs but continued to move downwards. It hadn't been long, but Wonwoo had made up his mind that he was never going to walk down an escalator again, and certainly not when he was with Mingyu. 

So Wonwoo let Mingyu lean into him, cautious over how close to the bottom they were getting, turning Mingyu around as they reached the end to stop him from getting caught at the end and falling over, in the way he was so prone to do. 

The platform was empty when they reached the bottom, their train not coming for another three minutes, and Wonwoo stepped into Mingyu’s arms, pulled closer and tilted his face into Mingyu’s neck, nose pressed to his skin and breathing him in. Wonwoo felt his eyelashes catch on the column of Mingyu’s neck as he closed his eyes, and he smiled as Mingyu ran his hands up and down Wonwoo’s back.

“The quotes were pretty,” Wonwoo said, muffled by Mingyu’s skin, but the huff of laughter was enough to show that Mingyu had heard. “I concede.”

“That one’s my favourite,” Mingyu said, Wonwoo leaning back to look at Mingyu, still only centimetres between them but enough for Wonwoo to again take in the details of Mingyu’s face. "the mighty stranger."

“And yet you got another one tattooed on you?” Wonwoo said, teasing, still drinking in Mingyu’s features, raising a hand and resting it against Mingyu’s cheek.

“Had to get it to fit on both arms didn't I?” Mingyu retorted, leaning into the touch. “I’ve been thinking about that one though. Maybe on my back or something.”

“A bit long isn't it?” Wonwoo said, sliding his hand back into Mingyu’s hair, voice raising slightly as the train pulled in. Mingyu hummed in reply, stepping back. Wonwoo let his hand fall from Mingyu’s hair, feeling an arm slide around his waist as they waited for the train to come to a stop.

The doors creaked open, and they stepped inside to find a mostly empty compartment. Mingyu’s happy noise at the sight of it had Wonwoo’s heart catching, and his stomach fell in the best kind of way as Mingyu flopped back into a seat, legs kicking slightly and beaming up at Wonwoo.

He sat down next to Mingyu, who leant his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder, bodies still pressed together despite the ample room in the compartment. The train pulled back into motion, and over the roar of sound he could feel Mingyu’s breathing against his skin. He could see the two of them reflected in the window across from them, and a memory tugged at Wonwoo’s thoughts.

“The first time I remember seeing you was on a train,” Wonwoo said, and from their reflection he saw how Mingyu smiled. It felt like so long ago, when Wonwoo had seen the stranger on the packed train, saw him give up his seat for an old woman, felt how he stared at Wonwoo, felt how his heart seemed to start again the minute his eyes settled on Mingyu. 

“Can I admit now that you probably saw me before, following you around and trying to figure out if you were something I’d made up out of sheer desperation?”

“Yes,” Wonwoo said, turning to press his lips against Mingyu’s hair, smiling. “you can. Did you know straightaway, that I wasn't a stranger?”

“I’d always know,” Mingyu said, straightening up and leaning in, forehead pressing against Wonwoo’s, so close and present, every inch of Wonwoo’s vision filled with the sight of Mingyu. 

“Don’t be cheesy,” Wonwoo said, grinning despite himself. “you’re destroying your cold and malevolent image.”

“I’ve loved you for hundreds of years Wonwoo, I’m allowed to be cheesy.”

Wonwoo tried not to let his reaction show on his face, but evidently failed, as Mingyu realised what he said.

“Why am I like this,” he said, groaning, tilting his head back till it knocked against the window, Wonwoo trying not to laugh. “I meant to say it another time, right before you went out so I wouldn't have to deal with the aftermath, or when I’d drank enough to play it off. You’d think I’d have some sense, given my age.”

“I love you too Mingyu,” Wonwoo said, quickly to prevent Mingyu from panicking any further. Mingyu immediately sat forward, all previous trauma forgotten, leaning into Wonwoo and grinning.

“Really?” Mingyu asked, and the look on his face made Wonwoo’s heart swell.

“Well yeah, you’re my soulmate,” Wonwoo replied, trying not to seem flustered and forcing conviction into his words. “I love you.”

“You love me,” Mingyu said, blinking rapidly. “Jeon Wonwoo loves me.”

“Of course I do you asshole,” Wonwoo said, leaning over and ruffling Mingyu’s hair, standing up. “in every life.”

Wonwoo didn't look down at Mingyu. He was worried he might cry.

“Come on. This is our stop.”

They walked out together, onto the platform. Mingyu grumbled at the lack of escalator, and Wonwoo tried not to openly laugh at him again. They walked up the stairs together, hand in hand.

edit//20/05/18

okay so [someone ](https://yoonjinnie23.tumblr.com)[wonderful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PreciousNonsense/pseuds/PreciousNonsense) made the most beautifuLLLLLLL edits for my fic??? im cry??? go follow n love n cry just like i do whenever i see them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're done?? wow. okay jun will be arriving imminently, thanks for reading and putting up with this piece of shit. heres the prompt if u want http://dissypoo.tumblr.com/post/120839741822/scientistsoldier-airtrafficcontroller and yeah. we're done. again if anyone has any questions just hmu, thanks for reading!!
> 
> here are the names i've kept talking about 
> 
> chapter 2  
> ezra - like helper, saviour (it doesn't say anywhere but this was the name of the missionary)
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 4  
> anantya - endless, eternal
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 6  
> alexander - defender, helper of man
> 
> sinclair - means clear so like truth?? idk i liked it
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 8  
> chiyo - a thousand years, eternal
> 
> chise - little star, torrent of wisdom (soonyoung)
> 
> oshiro - big castle so big ?? kakeru - precious stone (seokmin) 
> 
> momoko and sana just cause i stan twice
> 
> akira - bright (chan)
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 10  
> anastasia - reincarnation, resurrection
> 
> yekaterina - pure (jeonghan)
> 
> victoria - victory (seungcheol)
> 
> freddie/frederick - leader (hansol)
> 
> akira - bright (chan)
> 
> aldrich - wise (jihoon)
> 
> josephine - may jehovah give (jisoo/joshua). 
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 12  
> feng - can be written as 風 meaning wind or 鳳 meaning phoenix
> 
> gu - ancient 古 (never says it but his last name)
> 
> tae hyun - written as 現迨, 現 meaning existing and 迨 meaning to arrive or reach (seungkwan)
> 
> ji young - written as 知愛, 知 meaning to know and 愛 meaning forever (jihoon)
> 
> young jae - written as 愛再, 愛 meaning forever and 再 meaning again (jisoo)
> 
> soo young - written as 秀愛, 秀 meaning elegant and 愛 meaning forever (soonyoung)
> 
> eun young - written as 恩愛, 恩 meaning grace and 愛 meaning forever (chan)
> 
> qi’s named after victoria/song qian cause f(x) 4ever, jie cause ioi n pristin, and tzuyu cause i stan twice
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 13 (mentioned)  
> khaled - eternal, arabic
> 
> najia - escape, arabic
> 
> idona - norse goddess of eternal youth 
> 
> niran - thai for eternal (?)
> 
> javed - persian, eternal
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 14  
> young mi - written as 愛美, 愛 meaning forever and 美 meaning beautiful 
> 
> jeong ae - written as 貞愛, 貞 meaning pure and 愛 meaning love (jeonghan)
> 
> da yeong - written as 多英, 多 meaning many and 英 meaning hero (jisoo)
> 
> han bin - written as 韓 彬, 韓 meaning big and 彬 meaning well bred (hansol)
> 
> hye jin - written as 慧珍, 慧 meaning bright and 珍 meaning precious (seokmin)
> 
> ji hye - written as 智慧, 智 meaning wisdom and 慧 meaning intellect (jihoon)
> 
>  
> 
> chapter 15  
> young nam - written as 愛南, 愛 meaning forever and 南 meaning south (jisoo)
> 
> hiroshi - tolerant, generous (seungkwan)
> 
> young ae - written as 愛永, 愛 meaning forever and 永 meaning love
> 
> jiwoo - her surname is jeon, stan k.a.r.d
> 
> somi - her surname is jeon, stan somi
> 
> jungkook - his surname is jeon, stan bts
> 
>  
> 
> thank u!!! <333


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